


ragnarök book #1

by blowyourmind, feelingfrenzy, zlrdmr



Series: ragnarök [1]
Category: (여자)아이들 | (G)I-DLE, ATEEZ (Band), Dreamcatcher (Korea Band), Stray Kids (Band), The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - ASOIAF Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blowyourmind/pseuds/blowyourmind, https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelingfrenzy/pseuds/feelingfrenzy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zlrdmr/pseuds/zlrdmr
Summary: the one where the stag, the wolf, the lion and the dragon fight for the iron throne
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Jeon Soyeon/Seo Soojin, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Lee Jaehyun | Hyunjae/Lee Juyeon
Series: ragnarök [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156076
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	1. CHAN I

**Author's Note:**

> kingdom toxic only to miserable people i'm having a ball on this bitch x  
>   
> [yara's cc](https://curiouscat.me/woosangenjoyer)  
> [katya's cc](https://curiouscat.me/zhuochengcallme)  
> [characters guide](https://listography.com/feelingfrenzy/notes/asoiaf_au_ref)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from yara:  
> good luck  
> from katya:  
> for stannis for the rightful king

The icicles started melting under the warm sun so going too close to the roofs or tall trees would end up with a sudden water drop on your head. It’s Chan’s second spring he remembers so he already experienced that before, Siyeon lived through two winters so she knows too; they’re laughing together at Shuhua and Jeongin looking around and searching for the source of the water that landed at the princess’ head and startled her. Chan doesn’t miss the chance to show off to his siblings and climbs one of the short pines and brings to show the young ones how the icicles look like up close and explains what happened.

It was one hell of a long winter—starting with a very cold long autumn, it lasted eight years, three months and twenty five days. The news flew across the continent terrifyingly quickly—when the raven from the Storm’s End had arrived, Chan already had heard it from his people. Nobody expected it to be this long, though some would talk about the signs during the autumn, but it was hard to say if it was made up at the moment or was an actual folklore saying. So obviously this winter was hard for simple people—there was simply not enough food and the diseases exterminated the entire villages. It was an age of absolute madness that affected even the nobles—an unknown reason has made a dame of the Royal Guard to backstab the beloved Queen Minji, which made this winter even more harsh and depressing.

And it was finally over.

Siyeon lived through two winters, Chan lived through this one and was born at the end of the previous winter; Shuhua and Jeongin were too young to remember the latest summer. Chan felt excited for them to experience the warmth for the first time in their lives.

“A raven from Storm’s End has arrived while you were away, my lord,” Yugyeom holds out the letter for him and stares with a knowing but contemplating expression. Chan takes the letter too roughly and enthusiastically and immediately leaves to his chambers to read it.

_“My ______ Chan,_

_It’s been years but I still don’t feel like addressing you officially even though I probably should. Greetings, Lord Chan? That sounds ridiculously distant, doesn’t it? I imagine you addressing me as a lord with a silly smile, giggling and laughing; I would laugh too and hug you warmly as it’s been a very long time of us being leagues apart, too busy tending to our lands. I hope the spring has already come here. If not, I hope it comes soon. How are Shuhua and Jeongin? Are they excited to see the grass? Is Siyeon doing well?_

_The flowers slowly start to bloom but my heart is full of worries. Winter is over, so now no natural causes could stop anyone from starting the wars. I worry about other big houses deciding to claim the Iron Throne—after all, my dear aunt didn’t have any children and our King Hyunjae is just the oldest nephew. The Targaryens, hopefully, aren’t a problem—I think they would’ve returned during the winter rather than now when we’re the weakest, I’ve heard Essos’ winters aren’t as harsh as ours. The other thing I often think about would be my bastard brother—I pray to the Seven he never finds out his origins because the war would be inevitable. I worry not only for myself but for you too—I will avoid saying why, I always feel too paranoid to share any secrets when a raven could be caught by a wrong person, but you will surely understand what I mean._

_Anyways, my apologies for ruining the mood; promise to write something positive next time. Hyunjae sent me a letter saying Sunwoo and Bora still fight all the time, and Seungmin has convinced him to adopt a dog. This kid will never grow up… Eric is doing fine._

_Hope to see you soon._

_Always yours,_  
_Minho”_

Chan, alone in his chambers, allows himself to giggle a little while reading the letter, up until the part about the worries where he drops his expression and frowns. He hadn’t thought about it yet but now agrees that it should be expected.

The whole peaceful spring is jeopardized just because the vile destiny made his biggest rival and a bastard brother of the king meet and end up as allies; just one wrong ear to eavesdrop the secret and the rivers of blood are inevitable. You don’t need to be an academic level strategistically smart to figure out the Greyjoy would use any chance to take down a lord that has humiliated his house a few years ago—speaking fairly, it’s not guaranteed he wouldn’t do it without knowing one of his close “court” is a Baratheon. He is just insane enough—it was a brief meeting for them in a battle but Chan still has many scars and a spine-chilling memory of a blood-thirsty grin, and Changmin used to say this often—he would threaten them all with his brother and even though it sounded like a silly threat from a kid like Jeongin complaining to him Shuhua pulled his hair again, Chan would know he means it.

_“My beloved lord,_

_My heart is aching to see you. I have smiled through the entire letter and it made me miss you so much—I genuinely laughed and now I think I might do as you’ve imagined in our first meeting. Jeongin and Shuhua are rapturous, to put it lightly—I’m writing you a letter after we’ve returned back to the fortress after taking a walk in the forest. They have seen the icicles melting for the first time in their lives and were overjoyed. They are so cute and I’m very excited for them to see even more. Siyeon is doing well, always training and studying; she still doesn’t thaw towards you but I hope it’s fixable. I’m glad to hear your brothers are also doing well! How did Seungmin name his dog? What is the breed?_

_I understand your worries, dear, but rest assured—I am familiar with this house more and would assume the lord in question may be insane enough to go against me during the winter and even without this knowledge; therefore I would assume we have nothing to be afraid of yet—just like Targaryens, if they wanted to attack, they would do it. Even Changmin has warmed up to us and now hopefully doesn’t feel like an outsider—I have always treated him like a brother of mine so I hope it would also be considered by his brother._

_I also hope to see you soon—I might find some time to pay you a visit, I trust Siyeon to do the lord duties in my absence. The kids should also see the beauty of the Stormlands themselves, don’t you think?_

_Faithfully yours,_  
_Chan”_

Well, it’s a blatant lie, Chan thinks yet still writes these words down—it just upsets him that Minho is worried about this and wants to console; maybe saying it to others would also ease his own worries as well.

Yugyeom doesn’t comment anything as he’s tying up the letter for the same raven that arrived before. Everyone got used to this already, even though they probably think he’s silly for keeping up this contact.

“You’re still talking to that stag?” Siyeon says with barely noticeable contempt in her voice when she meets him in the hallway near the stairs leading to the raven tower.

“I was just thinking it’s been a long time since you’ve lectured me on this,” he mutters to himself and straightens his back, ready to pretend he cares and listens. If he gets caught, he has to take the backlash with pride.

“Chan, I just want you to understand you’re a lord now,” she crosses her arms and leans on the wall.

“Well, yeah, exactly, why is it bad to keep a friendly relationship with another lord?” He talks over her and frowns.

“Everyone fucking knows it’s not platonic,” Siyeon cuts him off, not raising her voice yet but obviously very stern. “There are many other problems but let’s start with this one, everyone knows you would go to the other side of Essos or behind the Wall for this dude and obviously would use it. Even the Greyjoy knows, what if he uses this to smoke you out of the fortress?”

Siyeon doesn’t falter but there's a spark of anxiety in her eyes. Chan feels sick and hurt, realizing she’s just worried about him and he was about to start acting like an asshole.

“Hey,” he starts quietly, “Siyeon, I understand, but I’m a grown man. I wouldn’t act stupid in a situation like that.”

Siyeon straightens up and rolls her eyes—she obviously doesn’t believe him. “The people want independence. Now with the spring people might start gathering and revolting, demanding you to leave the King’s rule and make North independent again.”

Chan purses his lips and sighs. This was a big talk for what he remembers—the North had joined the king’s rule a long time ago and a little talk would always happen when the new ruler would get crowned. Grandfather talked about that, father talked about that, Chan experiences it now with Hyunjae—every time this happens northerners hope they can bargain with the new king. Nobody wanted to go with a war though and usually when the leaders overruled the suggestions knowing how stupid it would be to lose the king’s support the revolting spirit would die down, but there’s a limit of how much the people could take.

“What I’m saying is that eventually you will have to go against him and you will regret all of this,” Siyeon says quietly. “Anything might happen and this kind of affair never ended well.”

Then she leaves behind him in the hall, probably going to the war room. Chan feels even more uneasy than after reading the letter from Minho. There’s not only a threat from outside but from the inside as well.

He needs to clear his head right now.

In the training field he meets Jeongin with the bow and feels relieved that now he can distract himself with a little uncalled lesson. He kinda expected to see Changmin here and is surprised he didn’t—he hasn't seen him today at all, to be fair.

“Oh, hi,” Jeongin smiles bashfully as always and lowers his bow. “You’re late a bit, Changmin just left. He wanted to see you because he needed your permission to send a letter to his brother.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “He knows I’m not censoring him and all that.”

“Well, Yugyeom is strict about that, apparently,” he shrugs, “Changmin always complains about that. Anyways, I’m getting better at archery, what do you think?”

Chan sits down on the bench and rests his chin on his fist. “Let me decide that. Do the thing.”

Jeongin’s expression drops as he gets obviously nervous—probably because he sees Chan getting into his mentor mode.

Chan stays silent the whole time—the arrow shakes only a little bit as Jeongin aims for the dummy. He shoots the shoulder but it stays still.

“Not bad,” Chan nods. “You actually have progress.”

Jeongin grins awkwardly and rocks on his feet. “I was actually aiming for the chest. I don’t know what happened.”

“The wind changed the trajectory,” Chan gets up and takes the bow and one of the arrows to show him. “So if you wanted to shoot the chest, you should’ve aimed a bit lower and…”

Jeongin watches immensely as Chan lets the string off—the arrow hits right in the chest and the dummy falls down.

“But here’s a thing. A real person would run away if they see you shooting at them,” Chan looks down at his brother, explaining. “I would say it wouldn’t be bad in a real situation. Say you’ve hit someone’s shoulder as they were running away and they fall down in pain so now you can kill them for sure. Though in such situations you should rather aim for the legs. The thigh wounds can end up as deadly too.”

Jeongin listens with a frown and nods understandingly—Chan feels sick again that he has to give him lessons like that. He has never given it any meaning, like, it’s just normal that all the boys are taught how to fight, but with all the conversations he had had today it gets stressful. Chan has gone through a few battles when the Greyjoys decided to raid on the land for some reason; the sin of taking someone’s life weighs on his shoulders every day when he gets reminded of that. Siyeon would say he’s too soft-hearted for being a warrior, she would gladly take all the battle related questions on herself during that time. Chan really is too empathetic for the battlefield. Surprising for the northern lords who historically are always more involved in the fights than the southern kings.

Chan finds a bored Changmin waiting in his reading room—little Greyjoy at the very least has the respect to not sit in his chair but pick the guest one. Probably because there’s Shuhua at the desk—she obviously has enough impudence to do so. He could hear their laughs from outside the room and expected to see them both there.

“Here, lord,” Changmin immediately jumps up from his chair and holds out an envelope. “Promise these aren’t fortress plans.”

Chan narrows his eyes and holds out a letter to the window to see what’s inside—the paper is too thick to read through but it’s obviously covered in letters, not drawings. He does it just to mock light-heartedly so he laughs immediately and just goes for the table to get the feather and sign. Changmin rolls his eyes but laughs a bit too.

Shuhua immediately takes it as an opportunity to bombard him with questions.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, now when it’s summer are we going anywhere to the south?” She nearly jumps out of the chair and climbs the table.

Chan hums as he signs the letter. “It’s literally the first week of spring.”

“Well, but it’s warm anyway! I already promised Miyeon I’m gonna visit Highgarden and Yuqi also invited me to Lannisport and Minnie invited me to Dorne,” she pouts.

“Woah. You have more connections than me at this point,” Chan laughs and gives Changmin the letter—he immediately runs off to the raven tower. “I’ll think about it. You know Siyeon will go bald out of stress if we leave her as a lord of the fortress.”

Shuhua pouts again and sits down in the chair. “Exactly. Just let me go alone. I’m an adult.”

“Yeah, sure. As soon as you will stop being scared of the dark,” he pats her head and dishevels her loosely braided hair—she makes an attempt to shove him away and he laughs.

“I’m not scared of the dark! It’s because, you know… Wendy told us that story about a very long night that lasted a few years,” she frowns and gets up from the chair.

Chan leads her out of the room. “Well, that’s surely a very scary story. You’re excused.”

In his room Chan always feels too alone—if he doesn’t fall asleep fast enough he would start thinking silly thoughts. He starts off with going through all the political things he had over his head today—the conflict with Greyjoys, the possible contest for the throne, the Baratheon bastard, the threat of the revolution—and then just slowly ends up missing Minho. He comes to the conclusion it would be way simpler if he had married him when he had a chance—either he’d be with him at the Storm’s End and Siyeon would rule the North or he’d taken Minho here and Seungmin would rule the Stormlands. The second one sounds better—even if he trusts Siyeon he worries she is confrontational at times and would actually announce independence. Plus Chan doesn’t take the hot weather well. It would be nice if Minho lived with him—this bed wouldn’t feel so cold and lonely, but he also has said that time he really loves the landscapes here and Chan knows a lot of pretty places here to show it to him. An entire lifetime of “I know a place”. Despite their constant rivalry, Seungmin definitely isn’t stupid so he wouldn’t start shit with his brother’s husband, and Hyunjae obviously loves Minho a lot. Therefore one problem less.

It’s also just very simple—Chan misses Minho too much and just wants to see him again.

(at the other side of Westeros in the Storm’s End lord Minho is also in his bed, thinking about the old saying that if you couldn’t sleep it means someone misses you)


	2. ERIC I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hyunjae?? hyunjae from the boyz?

The bowstring squeaked as his brother was aiming for a young prey’s eye.

“How could we kill our house’s symbol?” Prince Eric asked quietly, looking over his older brother’s shoulder.

The morning was only starting at the east, the soil thawed from midnight frost, and the wolf howls and boar grumbles were switching with birds chirping. Southern winters aren’t as harsh, but he surely misses the warmth and the humid air of the Kingswood, full of the smells—fur, devilweed, father’s winebags—that aren’t nose biting frost.

Eric is so sick of the winter.

Hyunjae stood still, ready to shoot at any time. Embroidered with gold antlers on his woolen hunting doublet shined under the soft sunlight. Eric held his bow down, but also had an arrow ready; both brothers were carnivorously staring at the elegant creature with brown thin fur, carefreely nibbling on the goathead under its hooves—it tastes disgustingly bitter, Eric knows that for sure.

“Our symbol is a black crowned stag on a gold field,” Hyunjae replied quietly. “This is just a roe deer.”

An arrow was freed, with a whistle it missed an animal’s head, hitting a bush of blackthorn. The deer, startled, ran deeper into the forest, dust and leaves raised with its small hooves. Eric hurriedly grabbed an arrow he had ready, climbed an old log and aimed from above, tracing the animal’s trajectory with an arrow’s sharp end.

 _C’mon, run_ , was a fleeting thought in his head at this time, but he shoved it away.

Following the arrow’s sound he could hear a thump of the body falling down in the grass. It became silent in the forest again.

“My youngest brother once again mastered me in the hunting,” Hyunjae laughed sardonically, pushed Eric on his shoulder supportingly and put his bow away. “Now don’t you ever dare to laugh at me for this when I become a king. I will shoot you like a prey.”

“Luckily, that’s not the only thing about you I can laugh at, my dear brother. I’ll go look,” Eric nodded somewhere to the side.

“I’ll bring the horses, m’lord,” the crown prince mocked him and returned to the far away high ash tree where they’ve left their horses.

That’s how it always has been, the girls would be themselves, whispering the deepest secrets to each other behind the seven locks, and they two would only need the Kingswood and two bows. That’s how it always has been.

They were almost too far away from each other but enough for the scream to reach, so Eric put his hands to his mouth to amplify his voice and yelled, “You should make hunting roe deer illegal, they’re too pretty for their heads just adorning Red Keep’s walls!”

In response he only heard wind rustling, so Eric thought Hyunjae didn’t hear him, so he went ahead, walking over a road of little puddles, getting through thorny bushes. The only one who was better at archery than him was Minho—he could literally shoot a squirrel in its eye and never missed, which Eric couldn’t say about himself. The middle brother must be going crazy out of boredom in Storm’s End that is about to pass on him, or, maybe riding his Quick around the Rainwood, exterminating all the squirrels here, or catches whitefish and cod in Wendwater. That river is, probably, colder than any river behind the Wall might be, Eric only once tried to put his feet in it and nearly lost his toes.

He stepped at some brush, it cracked loudly, so some hidden small animal ran away under his feet, and Eric for some reason got reminded of his other brother Seungmin and his pack of hounds who he loved to play with since childhood. He’s a real prince—hunting in the morning, reading in the evening, in between is sharing fancy long speeches about external politics and the wellbeing of the lord-protector. For some reason they never got along, though—Eric thinks he breathes in too many ancient dust from the books he reads, and would always greet him warmly nonetheless.

The dead roe deer is lying on the ground with an arrow stuck in its eye—Eric shuddered at the sight. He hit a little deer in the eye from a distance of sixty yards, soon he will be able to do the same with the squirrels. This thought cheered Eric up, but then he noticed the deer’s legs twitched, and the belly moved—the animal tried to breathe. Light shock controlled him, he turned around, as if looking for his brother, and then took out the hunting knife. Easy abd quick death, he repeated to himself, easy and quick death.

The deer exhaled in a little cloud of steam, and blood spilled over the ground covered in thin snow, some drops also got over his hand. Eric pursed his lips and looked closely at the body again, thinking—killing from far away was one thing, taking a life with your own hands is another. He couldn’t name this feeling, but it loomed in his chest heavily.  
The prince shook his head and got up, holding the deer by its soft neck. A sudden rustle made him look around, but his sight was immediately taken away with a bag over his head.

“Hey, you! Let me go!” He yelled. Two people were holding him, one hit him in the stomach, for some time leaving him breathless and unable to talk, another one tried to put a piece of cloth in his mouth, but Eric bit his hand.

“You little scum,” the bandit laughed right in his face—his breath smelled like sourleaf. “Keep your mouth shut or you won’t recognize your straight teeth and pretty face later.

Eric tried to ask them what they needed from him, but the piece of cloth successfully ended up in his mouth as intended.

“Now shut up, fucking bastard,” another man said and kicked his leg, so Eric nearly fell down. “Actually, did we get the bitch we needed, Rorge?

“Take off the bag and look,” the first man laughed and took the bag off. revealing to Eric the ugliest face he had ever seen. “Here’s the blue eyed filthy beast. Son of a whore, damned bastard,” he spit on the ground next to him and put the bag back on his head, ignoring Eric trying to break out as he heard him being slandered. “Now take his ass and let’s get away from here.”

Eric heard the horse running through the forest and prayed to himself it wasn’t his brother.

Unfortunately—or fortunately—it was Hyunjae, wielding a sword, screaming, he ran for the bandits. The fight lasted not so long—his horse fell down, and now he’s also being held by a mercenary, who now has two princes held hostage.

“You raised your hand on your king!” Hyunjae, yelled, trying to break out. “You won’t even make it to the Kingsroad when you’d be caught and beheaded, and your rotten he—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, bluntly hit on his head.

“The more royal blood they have, the louder they are, don’t you think, Rorge?” The voice laughs disgustingly loudly, and Eric could hear them lettinv his brother’s unconscious body fall down.

Next moment he’s thrown over the horse like a rag doll—there’s something wrong with his rib so the pain is unbearable in this pose, especially when the horse is running to the sides too much, trying to get through the roadless path. Eric didn’t count how long it was when he heard the hounds barking, yelling and neighing—it made the bandits force their horses go faster, cursing to themselves. The bag fell off his head, and Eric sees they’re at the side road.

Eric turned around for the heavy stomping of the hooves, catching up with them—he’s hanging upside down, the only thing he sees is the furious silhouette of a mounted warrior, clothed in shiny armor and gold cape, who crosses the sword with the mercenaries. He fell down from the horse and couldn’t remember what happened next.

He wakes up from the lord-protector’s loud voice that felt like being hit in the head again—Sangyeon screams something, but Eric couldn’t figure the words out yet, trying to focus on the sensory feelings first at least.

“…Why did you go into the forest alone?! Do you understand how dangerous it was?!” The Lord-protector always was cold and harsh, and his voice made Eric feel chills down his spine. He suddenly remembered what these people said about him when they caught him and felt uneasy again.

“Eric was with me, my lord, what are you talking about?” Hyunjae’s voice was broken, and by the direction of the source Eric figured out his head is on his lap, and they are probably in the carriage on their way back to the Red Keep. “He was with me!”

“He is nobody to you, Hyunjae!” And the carriage’s door slammed.

Eric feels Hyunjae shaking. Eric is shaking himself, but he feels too scared to open his eyes—what would happen? Will he be called a blue eyed filthy beast again? Will he get killed? Now he doesn’t know anything for sure. His brother gripped his shoulders in frustration; the carriage moved and Hyunjae hugged him, pressed with his whole body, and shuddering in tears, whispered to his ear:

“When I become the king, no one would dare to touch you, brother. No one. No one. No one.”

Eric’s heart dropped.


	3. SOYEON I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're like finally wine and tits in the game of thrones fic

Red wine splashed in the cup like a little stormy sea. Two warships came together in a battle, bodies would fall in the waters, coloring it with blood. Soyeon didn’t feel anything in particular about this imagery—it’s just a passing neutral thought in her head.

“I saw the lion in the fires again today, my lady,” Soojin murmured to her ear, brushing her chest to her arm. The witch then passed to the window and sat on the sill, blocking the view on King's Landing.

“I’m flattered to hear after months I’m still your god’s favorite,” Soyeon nonchalantly took a sip of her wine, staring down the woman next to her. Soojin is pretty, very pretty, and this red dress compliments her curvy body well—Soyeon’s personal favorite now was the deep cleavage, adorned with a necklace from Lannisters’ family collection. A lion’s head stylized like a sun, Soojin liked it first and Soyeon just gifted it to her. It seemed fitting—Soojin was a part of her lion pride now and she was a priest of some god representing the sun. Soojin wore it all the time, like accepting Soyeon claiming her as hers.

Soojin gave her a smile—gentle but dark underneath. “You will always be. You’re the only one. The others are impostors and liars.”

Soyeon is drunk in the broad daylight and couldn't care less about the fire prophecies—at the moment she only wanted to be suffocated in between a woman’s boobs and swim in gold. “I will crush anyone who comes in my way.”

Soojin got up and stood very close to her, slowly raising her hands and cupping her face. “You will. Your enemies will burn or be torn apart by your lion claws. You will have your glory back.”

Soyeon is a noble lady with mundane shallow needs and a fragile façade of a femme fatale. Behind the closed doors she is a quiet awkward young woman that just happens to have a high position. She just froze here, wine glass slightly shaking in her hand, as the red priestess passed another prophecy to her.

“I see it,” Soojin’s eyes were glazed and unfocused—she was not quite here with her. “The wolves, the stags, the dragons, all of them fight over the dominance in the jungle, but when the lands are covered with the rivers of blood and the armies are too thinned out, the lion comes back out of the sea of blood. The true king of the animal kingdom… and the horrorful long night is lightened with the shine of its mane, and the people follow it, hopeful once again.”

Soojin was agonizingly close. Soyeon’s intoxicated brain can’t quite focus on the imagery described, she stared at her full cherry lips curled in a crazy smile.

The hands are suddenly gone from her face.

“Nothing can stop you, my queen, even pain,” Soojin whispered for the last time and took a step back.

At the very exact same moment the door to the chambers got slammed open, and Kevin nearly fell into the room. “My lady!”

Soyeon felt terrifyingly sober.

“My lady! You wanted to see me?” Kevin closeed the door behind him and walked closer, nodding politely to Soojin. “Pleased to see you too, The Reverend Mistress.”

Soojin stared heavily without acknowledging him.

Soyeon hummed, finished the wine glass and put it on the table at the side. “What was it again, Soojin? The part about the lion coming back.”

Soojin furrowed her brows, confused for a second. “The… the lion comes back to remind she’s a queen of the animal kingdom. Out of the sea of blood.”

“Right,” she nodded and turned to Kevin. “Out of the sea of blood. R’hllor sent me a sign to unite with Lord Greyjoy.”

Soojin tilted her head. “I never thought of this vision like that. But I must agree, it might be interpreted this way.”

 _Your god won’t provide me financial support_ , Soyeon thought bitterly to herself—she respects Soojin’s beliefs, she likes the prophecy that centers around her, but it’s frustrating to just sit there and wait for the signs to act.

“That's an incredibly reckless idea,” Kevin replied, stretching the vowels out. “You know well about the reputation Lord Greyjoy has.”

“That’s the point,” Soyeon smirked. “He’ll invest all his looted treasures in me because I’m the only one who’s willing to support him. They also say he’s the most self-obsessed man in Westeros, so I’ll add some fancy compliments and he’ll put the whole continent to my feet.”

“I’m afraid you have to offer something first,” Kevin crossed his arms and looked at her in expectation.

Soyeon’s smile grew bigger and more carnivorous. “Trust me, I have something to offer.”

The people who don’t risk it all won’t drink wine—that’s what her mother used to say, so Soyeon was ready to live by that. If she gets caught, she will lose everything, even though she’s flat out broke she still has her status and a position in the Small Council. But she is also smart, and plays this game of thrones very well. Way better than this fool Sangyeon. He will regret everything he did to her. It’s not like Greyjoy cares about anything but his revenge to Stark, so she could help him out a bit.

The letter was small, a simple suggestion of friendship, peppered with some shallow praises—’you are the most radiant lord of the continent’, ‘your glorious victories are talked about even at the Lannisport’, and anything else she could’ve come up through laughing—and signed only with a lion stylized as sun. This was easy—it wasn’t her official symbol, so it was easy to backtrack out of it, but it was still obvious enough. The sun was the symbol of R’hllor, the lion was the symbol of Lannisters, there aren’t many Red Faith’s followers in their house. Kevin left the castle and sent a trusted raven from the city’s suburbs using his connections.

“I saw in the fires today that the kraken bit the bait,” Soojin announced two days later in the late evening mysteriously, and Soyeon rushed into her chambers with her, where Kevin was waiting for them.

The moon was new, so the only source of light here was a candle—Soyeon thought it was a fitting atmosphere for what they’re about to do.

Soojin locked the door, and Kevin held the letter out to Soyeon—not a word was spoken until she had finished reading.

Lord Greyjoy was a brave fighter, but he was absolutely unable to resist a little flattery. Soyeon was unable to bite back a satisfied grin—this was too easy.

“You were right, Soojin,” Soyeon said, raising her eyes off the letter. “The kraken truly bit the bait like a stupid mackerel.”

“The fire visions never lie,” Soojin responded with a pleased catlike smile.

“Never doubted you,” she then turned to Kevin, “did you get me what I asked for?”

Kevin nodded and pulled out a small bottle of ink. “A trusted alchemist I often turn to.”

He then took a clean feather and an empty sheet of paper, signed it—the letters faded into thin air almost instantly. Soyeon gasped, and Kevin smirked, satisfied, and then reached out for the jug of water and a cloth he got ready beforehand—he carefully wetted the paper so it wouldn't get torn, and the letters showed up again.

“But would Lord Greyjoy realize the secret?” Soojin voiced a concern.

“I was once at the Pyke. The air is so humid it feels like being in an old wine cellar,” Soyeon waved her hand and took the ink and a feather from him. “He will figure it out.”

“Did you think of a story to share, my lady?” Kevin asked as he saw her wetting the feather.

It should be something legit because it’s important to establish the trust in this union. If she lies about something, Lord Greyjoy will find out at some point—even if she lies that her sources were untrusted, it still will ruin everything. She could do this later. For now, in fact, she didn’t feel like lying to him, she genuinely wanted to establish an alliance.

It also should be something relevant to him, and also some info that Sangyeon would absolutely hate for people to share around. 

Soyeon grinned sinisterly, and it looked terrifying in the dime candlelight.

“I will tell him Eric is a Stark whelp.”


	4. HYUNJIN I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw we have [this](https://listography.com/feelingfrenzy/notes/the_lineages_and_histories_of_the_great_houses_of_the_seven_kingdoms__with_descriptions_of_many_high_lords_and_noble_ladies_and_their_children) now. stay updated

Maester Jinyoung, who reported a letter from the Sunspear, has disappeared in the long hallway so fast that Hyunjin felt like it was the howling wind of the Stone Drum talking to him. The way for the raven tower is infinite spiral stairs, but his long legs let him climb it faster than any bony old maester would.

He ran his eyes across the little note, put together with a Martell sigil, and thought that Dorne sun was way too hot.  
  
  


_“To the Prince of the Baldstone,  
  
If my dear friend isn’t planning to sit over his dragon glass until he becomes as pale as obsidian, he could sail off on a ship from Sunspear, that’s been moored empty in your port for the past month, to Dorne. Apparently, the dragons have left behind something else besides a hoard of useless glass.  
  
  
  
is it even alive?»_

  
  
  
You need to stay under the sun for a really long time and drink a lot of fortified dornish wine to write a letter like that, switching between High Valyrian to Middle, adding a few words in that god forsaken Ghiscari he liked for some reason. Hyunjin searched for a signature on the both sides of the paper and didn’t find it, but he didn’t need it—he understood it from the first line, prince Changbin got tired of stomping the dust in the desert waiting for a day of coronation. He was in Dorne before, when the storms in the Narrow sea weren’t happening that often, which blocked the Gullet for the ships sailing to the Blackwater bay. Before the winter actually came. He doesn’t have many memories about the summer, when he was only a bit older than ten, but he remembers the Summer sea too well. And he remembers the Ghaston Grey as the young prince showed the outlines at the horizon with his small hand and said it’s the scariest place in the whole Westeros.

Hyunjin didn’t know if the prince was joking about the dragons and said it in his letter to just make fun of him, or his men actually found something important at the Boneway. In his previous letters Changbin has mentioned that lately in the port of the Shadow city there could be seen the ships from the Slavers bay and Summer isles, and then they will find the remains of these sailors in the ravines of the Red mountains. He reread the letter once again, and a strange feeling in his chest hinted that there is something far away from the Dragonstone that belonged to him from the beginning of the days.

The blood of the dragons talked in him, and it couldn’t lie.

Walking down the tower, he was thinking about the dragon eggs that nobody on this island had ever seen since the death of the last dragon. He would go to the Dragon Mountain himself often but would only find rocks, bones and obsidian shreds. Everything on the Dragonstone was a mere reminder of them, and it was driving Hyunjin mad—the towers shaped like dragons with open maws, the dragon claws growing out of the walls, the dragon tails on the floor, the northern wind howling instead of the beast roaring. The dragon figurines on the arrowslits had their wings stretched out, and Hyunjin would think they should be flying and incinerating everything.

Wasn’t it for Daenys the Dreamer and her damned Doom of Valyria, this wouldn’t have happened. Nobody asked her to open her mouth four hundred years ago. Then this little stone memorial on an empty island wouldn’t have existed.

He found his sister in the Chamber of the Painted table, as usual busy with signing papers—that’s what she got from the parents as the oldest child. The man next to her, as Hyunjin guesses, is a master of ships, handing her another pack of sealed resolutions about not attacking a little half-empty port at the bottom of the mountain, but, when he noticed the prince’s wide shoulders in the doorway, he immediately excused himself and disappeared in another door.

“When does the Sunspear ship sail off?” Hyunjin asked roughly, not giving his sister a little nice talk about her wellbeing and all that.

“I gave the Martell’s people permission this morning, they’re probably getting ready now,” Gahyeon said, not raising her eyes from the paper.

“Damn this Dragonstone,” Hyunjin groaned and hit the table with his fist, knocking the figurines representing the Westeros noble houses off. “You should’ve told me this earlier!”

Gahyeon sighed and continued in the same unbothered tone. “You’ve never cared about the ships before. What’s the hurry, Hyunjin?”

“I am leaving for Dorne immediately.”

“And what’s the purpose? To get into another storm?” Gahyeon put the papers away and crossed her arms on her chest, showing with her entire being how sick she is of her brother’s antics.

“Are you trying to stop me, sister?”

“Answer me.”

Hyunjin shows her a letter, holding it between his fingers. Explaining himself was the thing he didn’t want to do, but he wanted to stay at this chamber that sister picked for wasting her whole life away the least. 

“They found dragon eggs in Dorne. This is our chance, Gahyeon, I should go.”

“Hyunjin, listen. Nobody saw dragons or real dragon eggs for, like, two hundred? Three hundred years? If you want to risk sailing the Narrow sea for a boulder, I plan to stop you.” She obviously notices him literally boiling from anger, and cuts him off before he yells at her. “And another thing. If Martells are lucky enough to find a real egg, why would they give it to you?”

“The Lord doesn’t know it. The letter was personally from his son Changbin, I am his friend, you know it.”

“What kind of son would hide from his father something that costs a whole naval fleet with a dozen of golden company warriors on each for a nere friend?”

“Gahyeon, you will not stop me,” Hyunjin rushed to the western window that showed the port city at the shore. “Where is Felix?”

“He said he wanted to pray in the sept.”

“Seven hells, what is he praying for? For the Sea Dragon Tower to not lose its teeth? Or maybe his prayers will give us back the lands from Pentos to Meereen?”

“Hyunjin, this will never happen. You know we don’t own the Free cities and the Slavers bay anymore.”

“And you’ve never tried to change that, Gahyeon.”

“Like talking to a child,” Gahyeon huffed nervously and raised her tone. “I do everything after our parents’ passing to support the sea trade while you’re stuck in the armory. That’s very impressive of you but I’m not planning to have a war in the middle of the winter.”

“At some point we will run out of the things to trade, and only Tyrells and Lannisters would be able to pay the real price for the dragon glass, and only if they give everything they have,” Hyunjin hissed out, leaving on the Painted table with his whole body, looking his sister right in the eyes.

When a Targaryen is born, the gods throw a coin. When Hyunjin was born, it fell on its side, so now everything depends on the wind that would make it lean on some side with a blow.

Gahyeon didn’t find anything to reply—she knew he was right, but she didn’t want to lose an argument to a teenager. “The winter will end someday.”

“ _If_ the winter will end someday, Gahyeon. Now forgive me for disrupting your calligraphy class,” and with that Hyunjin left, closing the door with a loud thud, their dialogue unfinished.

 _Even behind the Narrow sea people know that the Dragonstone is just a fancy name and laugh at that shamelessly_ , Hyunjin thought as he was leaving the castle for the sept, where he was planning to see his brother Felix, also busy with nonsense, but a little bit more prosaic. The sept has met him with silence and dim lights, falling from the high windows. When his eyes got used for the weak lighting as he was closing the distance with a figure of someone praying next to the Mother’s statue, but when he turned the person around, he had seen an old maester.

“What can I do for you, Your Highness?” The maester was obviously terrified in front of the burning purple stare—Hyunjin’s eyecolor was bright, with red spots, he took it after their grandfather.

“Where is my brother? I was told he is in the sept.”

If Gahyeon decided to give him a promenade across the whole Dragonstone so he would be late for the ship, she had almost succeeded in that. The bitchy side of her character would come out at unpredictable times, he hated their mother for that, sometimes it would make him want to throw his sister off a cliff.

“In the garden, my lord.”

Hyunjin barked out a curse in low Valyrian and rushed out of the sept—he waved at a maester who already had started telling him off for the blasphemy in front of the Seven.

He should’ve skipped visiting sister and should’ve gone to see his brother straight away instead. He stopped for a second in the middle of his way to think how to get to the Garden faster and then heard it—in the far away wave crash sound he could hear a harp. He ran to the sound even faster, still holding the fragile piece of paper in his fist tightly.

He saw Felix’ dainty tall silhouette even before reaching the arch separating the outer yard and the Aegon’s Garden itself, full of tall pines and bushes of wild roses. Hyunjin stopped for a second when he felt the scent of the conifers and took a better look—his brother was playing for the children of the court, both of the servants and of the nobles and the bannermen. They listened to his quiet singing accompanied by the sound of the strings he played with his skilled thin fingers, not used to holding steel. Hyunjin recognized the song quickly—”My featherbed is deep and soft…”, a corny ballad about a forbidden love of a knight and a forest lady, something they sing at the morning in the shittiest taverns, but Felix had a soft heart and the stories like that would touch him deeply.

_My featherbed is deep and soft,  
and there I'll lay you down,  
I'll dress you all in yellow silk,  
and on your head a crown.  
For you shall be my lady love,  
and I shall be your lord.  
I'll always keep you warm and safe,  
and guard you with my sword…  
_

The leaves cracked under his heavy feet, and the sound made all the children run away—one of the boys had whispered “that’s the prince Hyunjin”.

“I gather the children and you scare them away, brother,” Felix started lamenting, but Hyunjin shoved a letter to him. “What is this? Who sent it?”

“Just read it,” Hyunjin cut him off and turned away, burning in anticipation. He really was in a hurry and this stalling suffocated him.

Felix touched the letters on the paper, as if clarifying it’s really here, and then cleared his throat before saying, “are you leaving for Dorne?”

Hyunjin prayed to every god his brother won’t be asking him the same stupid questions his sister did. “Yes, and you’re going with me. We can’t be guarding this bone filled yard forever.”

“We can’t abandon our sister either. And the ships sailing in the strait aren’t the trademen’s only. I can’t leave her alone.”

Hyunjin couldn’t take it anymore.

“I was sure that you will agree with me since we’ve shared the womb, Felix,” he gritted out, struggling to hold his anger in.

“We may have shared the womb but we grow more and more distant, and it scares me, Hyunjin,” he then showed him the letter, “what’s happening to you? Why does it excite you this much?”

“ _Nyke es ao hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogār iksan, Felix!_ ¹” Hyunjin growled out in valyrian as he tried his brother to come back to his senses. “Does this mean anything to you?”

“It doesn’t mean you’re obliged to throw yourself into the storming sea to sail across the hundreds of leagues, risking everything for something you’re not even sure of.”

“You are a coward, Felix,” Hyunjin said and took a step away from him. “Just like Gahyeon, just like our parents were. And you both will die from fear on this piece of soil in the middle of the sea, buried under the snow.”

“The blind fury speaks for you,” Felix got up off the wide stair steps and walked closer to him.

“My blood speaks for me. The blood of the dragons and the blood of the Ancient Valyria,” he cut him off. “The blood you have forgotten about. You only call yourself Targaryens, but you have nothing from them in yourself.”

“Hearing this hurts me, blood of my blood.”

“The blood of my blood won’t be a damned wimp, the blood of my blood would take a sword and follow me even to the Shadow lands or the Frozen shore if needed.”

Felix’ eyes were full of confusion and desperation. “But we-”

“There’s no ‘we’, Felix. Probably that’s why there’s the three of us, someone has to take risks. I’m leaving right now.” Hyunjin huffed in anger and turned around, but Felix made an attempt to stop him by his hand—he freed himself and shoved him away by his armed shoulder. “You better not hold me back.”

There’s a steel singing sound—Felix started taking his sword out. Wintersong, that’s how he called it.

“Put your icicle back in the scabbard,” Hyunjin nodded arrogantly in the direction, “it would be stupid to force me to stop. Sorry that this happened, and goodbye to you, Felix.”

He left his brother here in the garden—Felix didn’t say anything.

The port was empty as always—a very few people were running around the streets, carrying the wagons and bags. The mist covered the sea, an usual sight during the winter. Hyunjin hurriedly looked around searching among a very few moored ships for the right one.

“Are you searching for your ship, Your Highness?” An old man bowed his head to him.

“A ship leaving for Dorne should be here.”

“This way, my lord. Hurry up, they’re about to take off.”

Hyunjin didn’t thank the stranger and just ran in the pointed direction as fast as he could. When he saw the amber battered cloth with a red spear-pierced sun, he yelled for the sailors who were untying the ship, but they didn’t even look at him. As expected from the willful dornishmen.

He climbed the deck on his own and stood there, trying to catch his breath.

“Does the graceful lord think of paying for the way to the Sunspear?” One of the previous sailors asked him from the far away—he had a spiteful smirk on his face.

“I’m paying with my blessed presence on this bowl. Now untie the fucking sails and pray to your gods the winds are blowing our way,” Hyunjin answered. The ship has left the Dragonstone.

These two long weeks in the Narrow sea felt endless, but then he could finally see the outlines of Tyrosh and the Stepstones on the horizon and his heart had filled with joy. He still thought a lot about the things he said to his siblings, but the anticipation of the long-awaited meeting and the feeling of freedom slowly took more space in his head now. Minnie, probably, still would laugh at him for his “pale valyrian skin”, but he always felt closer to the sister of the dornish prince than to his own.

The ship skirted the Broken Arm in one day, so next morning they already were in the Summer sea. It’s brighter than the Dorne sea and is filled with more ships—he could see the banners of the Ironwoods, Blackmounts and Vaiths, next to the nameless galleys and trade boats.

The Shadow city grew around the Sunspear into a maze of mudbrick that gave a heat haze visible even this far away from the shore. It was near midday when they reached the Planky Town; he could see the Tower of the Sun at the east from here, shining in gold under the sun, and next to it was the Spear Tower, slightly smaller. Somewhere on their way should be the Water Gardens but Hyunjin didn’t see it.

The port city was built right over the water, it has no streets or buildings, people live in their tradeships and walk over the billions of bridges. His next way was over the eastern shore, and Hyunjin didn’t know yet if he could make it here. The waters of the Greenblood river are muddy, there’s more sand than water, and its shores are just red dunes.

“Going ashore, my lord!” The captain yelled to him. “Shall I help you to find a horse for the Sunspear? Not for free, obviously.”

“Don’t you try to scam me, old man, or I’ll introduce you to Flameroar!” Hyunjin laughed, put his leg on the steep, leaned with his sharp elbow on his knee and slapped his side, drawing attention to the fancy sword cross piece adorned with rubies and a garnet.

“Whatever you wish, my lord. But keep in mind, the dragons aren’t welcome in the Red Dunes.”

 _They aren’t welcome anywhere_ , Hyunjin thought but didn’t say out loud.

He took off a ring shaped like a dragon claw off his little finger and threw it at the captain—the old man caught it, smirked and saluted—as he got on the rocky shore crowded with people, scents and dozens of dialects and languages. Nobody cared here if you were a prince or a Summer islander trying to sell sheep fur for three times more expensive than it actually cost. Hyunjin had a hard time getting used to hot weather, his boots and armor started to heat up under the scorching sun, burning his skin—some people were giving him looks, probably laughing, as the dornishmen knew about this and preferred wearing leather and scales, not steel.

He has made it through the crowds and mule carriages to something that resembled a central square of the city, and once again got surprised he hadn’t seen a single horse yet. It’s been years and the dornish still ride mules, Hyunjin thought and got reminded of how Changbin bragged about a new stallion in one of his letters. If it was a mule again, Hyunjin would be really disappointed.

On his left side Hyunjin suddenly heard a whistle and a yell—he turned for the sound and had seen a cloud of dust raised by two black horses. The crowd rushed from the way, saving the goods and curious children. The horsemen were dressed in black and brown and their faces were hidden, there were no banners or even brooches to recognize them; they ran in his direction without slowing down yet, horses neighing and hitting the red pavement with their hooves. Hyunjin grabbed the handle of the sword even though he wouldn’t have a chance against two mounted dornish warriors.

The horses galloped around the prince, and two men talked to each other in a broken ghiscari.

“So the lord of the Baldstone finally got tired of guarding his dragon glass?” One of the men switched back to the common speech with a distinct dornish accent, speaking in a low voice. He took off his mask to reveal a familiar yet grown face.

The prince of Dorne was husky, tan and had wide shoulders; someone they’d call a salted dornishman even though he hadn't had raven black hair. Short but strongly built with a sharp side profile like a real dornishman. The man next to him didn’t show his face but he was laughing loudly, waving a huge sword that cut through the hot air with a whistle.

“Thought you’d meet me on a war mule,” Hyunjin lauged.

“A dornish sand steed, no westerosi tourney horse is a match to its speed and stamina,” Changbin said and spurred his horse—it reared, which made Hyunjin take a step back, and he laughed.

“Anyway, did not expect you to see here, my dear friend,” he said, dusting his armor off, “I was about to search for someone to take me to Sunspear. How did you know I would be here?”

Changbin narrowed his eyes under the sun and patted his stallion’s dark fur. “If I was you I would be here as well. And now get on the horse, we aren’t going to the Sunspear.”

The dunes changed to the flat sands and the mountains as the horses took them for the Boneway through the Red mountains—though the prince said nothing about the exact point of destination. They reached the Ironwoods castle at the Bonesway’s southern side only at midnight when the red sands changed the colors to deep blue, and only a waning gibbous lighted their way.

“Pretty long horseback ride, Your Highness,” Hyunjin started complaining, but Changbin shut his mouth with his palm, and he realized they really aren’t welcome here.

Changbin gave a signal to his companion—he nodded and made a sound similar to a coyote or jackal howl. They stood in silence for some time, and one of the mountains signaled with a torch back—they immediately took their way in that direction.

“I see your father still doesn’t accept you as an equal,” Hyunjin smirked and accepted three eggs in his hands covered in stoned harsh scales. They really came across the whole Dorne and sneaked behind the fortress for this.

“Just a matter of time,” Changbin waved his hand, “I made sure nobody talked badly of me ever so a few years and I’m the Prince of Dorne. And Han will be the guard captain, what do you think?”

Han’s real name was Jisung, he told him before, a young man from the streets of the Shadow city who didn’t know a single word in common speech before, because he was born somewhere at Old Ghis. The legend says Changbin has exchanged him for a golden dornish spear and named his brother in arms.

“You two are weird, that’s what I think,” Hyunjin said, not looking away from the eggs he put down on the ground into the warm sand, “Just don’t forget to invite me for the coronation, I’ll prepare a speech about an unparalleled Lord of Dorne Changbin of House Martell, First of his name and all that.

Changbin giggled to himself and looked out of the tent that his people put here, in the middle of the desert. “So, are you taking these lizards or whatever these rocks are?”

Hyunjin took one of the eggs in his hands again—the black one, like obsidian, with rough scales glittering with scarlet. It felt like it fitted his hands the best, pulsating with some strange warmth, and it resonated within his chest.

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“The great princes aren’t stealing the toys from children, right?” Changbin said proudly and patted his chest.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes with a short laugh, and then looked back on the two other eggs, frowning again. “I want to ship it to my siblings. So I need a trusted crew and a good vessel.”

One of the eggs was silver with ashy scales, the other one had a rich vermillion shade—the former one was destined to be Felix’ and his Wintersong, the latter one he could see in Gahyeon’s hands, who suited the dark red of Targaryens the most.

“Are you not planning to go home?” Changbin makes a surprised expression.

“As long as my house is a mountain of rocks, I will not put my foot there. I’m going to Essos.”

A ship for Pentos sailed only in two weeks from that day, so Hyunjin had enough time to enjoy the warm weather and the hot sun in the Water Gardens. Changbin eagerly spent time with him, sharing his plans for the future, envisioning the times of him being the greatest Dorne monarch, and a golden statue in his honor adorns the main square of the city. They went to Sunspear too, and Hyunjin asked if princess Minnie was here, but Changbin replied that she was visiting lady Yuqi in Lannisport.

On one of the hottest and driest days Han has notified Hyunjin that the ship for the Dragonstone is ready to sail, and the prince gave him a letter asking to deliver it directly to his brother’s hands.

_“If you really are the blood of my blood, you will raise them. The dragons sense the blood of the Ancient Valyria.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ "You and I are of the blood of the Ancient Valyria, Felix!"


	5. FELIX I

“How is your little beast doing?” Gahyeon asked, peeking into his chambers. “Not even a crack?”

Felix stirred the smoldering coals in the little fireplace he placed his egg in. His face was somber and dark after so many sleepless nights he would spend in the maester’s library searching for answers. He only shook his head in a negative answer, and his sister had left silently.

Gahyeon’s dragon hatched two months ago. A size of a cat, covered in scarlet scales, the webbings on his wings were violet and greyish blue. She didn’t name him yet, she just called him a horned kitten, as he was running around the inner yard and tried to fly. The court noblemen and the servants at first were terrified of the fascinating creature and avoided coming close, but later got used to seeing yet a small beast hanging around in the castle. Someday it will become a deadly threat.

As for Felix, he would stay up until late night reading books at maesters’ halls, reading the same lines that already would blur in front of his eyes, turning the fragile ancient papers—some of the words written were the wisest things he ever read, some were straight up outrageously stupid. He didn’t understand everything but he learned a lot—dragon’s lifespan, what they eat, how long they take to grow and what size Balerion the Black Dread was when he died. There wasn’t a single word about how the dragons hatch, apparently the centuries might pass before it happens or it wouldn't happen at all. But Felix would remember his brother’s letter and read himself—some Targaryens could control the dragons, and these creatures definitely obeyed them, feeling their noble valyrian blood. There were exceptions, of course, but Felix would see his sister’s success and it was filling him with hope that someday his dragon would come out too.

It was the second year of the winter, it started snowing more often at Dragonstone; the snowstorms howled in the halls, the Narrow sea only brought the crashing waves. Felix would come alone in the Sea Dragon Tower and tie up a letter to a raven’s leg, even though he knew nobody would answer. He would tell Hyunjin about everything that happens in the castle, even though it wasn’t much, but mostly he would write about how much he and their sister want him back. Hyunjin probably didn’t want Gahyeon to get a letter on accident instead, or maybe he had left Dorne so he just had never got any messages from him, that’s what Felix thought.

“My lord,” the shake voice of the maester scared the raven off the prince’s hands, and it flew away. “May I steal your attention for a second?”

“I’m not doing anything in particular,” Felix hid the unsent note in his sleeve. “What is it, maester Jinyoung?”

“Nothing actually proven, just another guess,” the old man pulled out a battered ancient book and put it on the table as he sat down. “I see my prince spending time reading the books about the dragons nowadays, and it made me ask some questions as well.”

“I never saw this book before.” Felix walked to the table and hovered over the cover—the leather was so worn down he couldn’t even read the title.

“This is archmaester Margate’s notes. I read it only once so it was just collecting the dust. There’s something interesting,” maester turned around some pages before stopping his half-blind eyes on one of the paragraphs. “Here. I wanted to tell you about the ice dragons.”

Felix turned the book around so he could read. The archmaester Margate wasn’t sure himself either but he was writing that many of the tales about the thick mists behind The Wall, the sailor tales about the ships frozen into the pieces of ice, was just a proof of the ice dragons existence. The huge winged beasts that would breathe ice, they were bigger than regular dragons, after their death they melted like snow.

“I don’t know if it helps, my lord. Some others like maester Yandel said it was just a funny thought and couldn't be real, but I would rather believe an archmaester.”

Felix didn’t know what to believe for now. The thought about an egg keeping such a creature felt like just a sick fever fantasy to him.

“Thank you, maester Jinyoung,” he said and lowered his head to reread the paragraph again, thinking deeply, and got distracted only when he heard the maester leave quietly.

Felix thought a lot about how his brother’s dragon looks. It’s probably as strong and furious as he is, and it could fly already. And its flame is the brightest.

It was a bright but frosty morning—the icy air made it hard to breathe, hands and feet froze despite the warm clothes. Felix nearly burned his fingers taking the egg out of the fireplace—the fire itself didn’t touch it and didn’t even heat it up, the egg always was lukewarm. The prince took it closer to the window to take a better look—the silver shell shined like snow on a sunny day, the blueish scales had dark patterns.

A sudden blow of the wind opened the window with a loud crash, scaring Felix.

The fresh snow covered everything in the garden, red roses looked especially pretty in their white hats; even his harp now looked like a lone huge heron. Felix found a place nearby—a stone fountain shaped like a little dragon, it was broken for a long time even since the summer. The wide bowl, adorned with flowers, vines and claws, during the summer usually was full of weed, fallen petals and little bugs, now the snow filled it to the top. Felix dug a little hole in there and put an egg inside, then covered it with snow a bit on top so no bird of prey could steal it.

 _If this doesn’t help then I’m doomed_ , Felix thought and left deeper into the garden, still sure nothing will happen anytime soon.

His harp that he would play rather than train with a sword stood there proudly in front of a little swampy pool and a bush of cranberry. The red berries stood out in front of the white background, and Felix picked a few out and ate it—the sour taste made his face pucker up.

Felix knew a lot of songs, short tunes and epic ballads but didn’t know a single song about dragons. That should be offensive, such marvelous creatures could change the wars completely. _Probably, all the dragon songs disappeared with the Doom of Valyria_ , Felix thought and traced the strings with his fingers numb from cold, the melody breaking the silence faltering at first.

There was a song that mentions dragons, Westerosi people loved it. “The Dance of the Dragons”, a song of two lovers dying in the ashes of the Fourteen Fires. That day not only lovers died but the old men and the children, the heroes and the criminals, the dragons in the sky of the Old Valyria as well. They sang it differently in many languages and Felix knew the version his mother would sing to him before.

_…The flames that shot so high and hot that even dragons burned,_  
_Would never be the final sights that fell upon their eyes._  
_A fly upon a wall, the waves the sea wind whipped and churned…_

The melody left his fingers, strangely unfamiliar, but Felix kept playing, singing quietly. Then a screech and a crack made him stop, but it disappeared in echoes as sudden as it happened. Felix rushed to the fountain but found only the eggshell pieces there.

The days started going by faster with the two dragons in the castle. Gahyeon named her dragon Kelirion for the cat in valyrian, he was eating a lot and never staying in one place for longer than one minute, and suddenly started stealing the goats and sheep from the locals. After a year he grew to the size of a horse, and Gahyeon even could ride him—Felix would watch her grip the black horns with both hands and legs and think she was truly born to ride a dragon. Kelirion made a few heavy steps to the back and unfolded his wings, close to the ship sails in size, and flew off the cliff; every day he would find the new highs to reach and would fall down like an eagle, hunting for the ground squirrels, not listening to Gahyeon ordering him to stop. He was free-willed and nothing could stop him whatever she tried.

On the contrary, Chronosarion was a grumpy one and refused to acknowledge Felix as an owner or at least as a friend. He grew bigger than Kelirion like expected, all covered in semi transparent blueish scales; his wings probably could cover an entire tower, and his eyes reflected so much wisdom that humans would never be able to achieve, even if they read all the books in the Oldtown Citadel. Felix tried everything from the carriages of lamb meat to the ancient valyrian bloodmagic, but the dragon still kept hiding in Aegon’s Garden, curled up in a ball under an old spruce. Everything around him got covered in frost when he breathed ice out.

Despite the storms now more apparent, the news about the fairytale creatures reached the lands from King’s Landing to Reach, and the ships from the continent and behind the Narrow sea started coming to visit the island. Many would back off as soon as they saw the beast roaming over the Dragonstone, but many would land anyway and ask for his sister’s audience. The messengers of the Essos noblemen offered the treasures and a marriage in exchange for already huge Kelirion who could burn an entire fleet to ashes; the nameless men and women of Free Cities of Asshai that would call themselves the dragon whisperers—these people would target Felix more, as if they could sense his insecurities, mysteriously saying the first whisperers were the first Targaryens and it would always be their talent. Gahyeon sternly turned down every request, not falling for the sweet flattery and hoards of money.

“The dragons are not for sale,” she would say, voice like steel clinking in a swordfight. “Anyone who would dare to disagree could talk with my dragon. But I do not promise you a safe return back home.”

Nobody could predict that the fourth year of the winter would be the last year for them on the Dragonstone.

“Gahyeon, there are ships getting closer to the island,” Felix said, turning away in worry from the western window of the Chamber. “A number of them.”

“I cannot believe this! Our dear beloved brother Hyunjin finally gathered an army of his loyal maraudeurs and came back after three years?” Gahyeon replied bitterly and went to the window to take a look too.

About ten ships, black crowned stag painted on sails, were getting closer to the island.

“What does the entire Baratheon fleet want from us?” She chuckled nervously. “Are they trying to take the dragons with fire and swords?”

Maester Jinyoung ran into the chamber, breathing heavily and holding out a letter. “Quickly, princess, my lord,” then he rushed to the table, picking out the important papers and seals. “You need to leave immediately.”

Felix unrolled the pergament, read the first line and his heart started beating faster. Queen Minji was killed last night; Lady Commander of the Guard, Yoohyeon of House Velaryon, blinded by a sudden madness, pierced her with a sword from behind. The queenslayer hid away from the King’s Landing in an unknown direction.

“And what does this have to do with us?” Gahyeon took the letter from Felix and turned to the old man. “Why do we need to leave? Why do Baratheons send their ships to us?”

“My lady, I have to say… Maesters of the King’s Landing notified me secretly that Targaryens were accused of planning it.”

“How?!” Gahyeon’s face became pale. “We are literally leagues away from the Red Keep!”

“One little rumor at the right time could start a war. They say you were leading Lady Yoohyeon,” maester’s voice cracked.

“Lady Yoohyeon served the King’s Guard for many years, we all know she’s loyal to the crown,” Gahyeon weren’t giving up yet, “We are just suzerains to Velaryons since Aegon’s reign!”

“What’s this sound?” Felix asked, leaning to the door with his ear.

“My lord, I’m afraid the court would be also unhappy about this. They’re probably going to ask you for the explanations. Here, my lady,” maester held the papers out for Gahyeon, “the most important papers. That’s what your father would take with himself. The ship for Braavos would wait for you at the far eastern pier, please hurry up and use the secret stairs.”

Felix couldn’t remember how they reached the sept through the underground hallways and long spiral staircases built in case of the castle siege. They needed to leave for the port unnoticed.

Gahyeon suddenly fell into her brother’s arms and sobbed into his chest.

“What will happen to our dragons?” The tears shook her whole body. “They will tear them apart, that’s why the Baratheons sent a whole fleet with their crossbows and harpoons.”

“We’ll send them away,” Felix raised her face and looked her into the eyes. “Go tell Kelirion to fly away, nothing will happen to him in the wild. Where is he?”

“At the cliff. I told the servants to feed him two lambs this noon.”

“Go,” he forcibly straightened her body and started walking away in the different direction. “Meet me at the eastern gates.”

He knew where Chronosaurion was, so he went there—in the Garden.

His dragon was furious—he reared and hit the ground with his spiky tail, raising snow and stones in the air; he stared at the prince, ready to attack, and Felix understood that he knew what’s happening, and he wasn't happy about it.

Felix started getting closer with careful small steps, showing him his empty hands, trying to explain he isn’t trying to do any harm. Roughly, since he was trying to kick him out of his nest. Chronosaurion was growling heavily, but stood in the same place, so Felix was able to close the distance and he, swallowing fear, touched the bumpy cold scales on his face.

“You need to leave,” Felix said. He was still in denial over the fact the dragon let him touch himself for the first time ever. “Please, fly away, I want you to live. But I don’t know if we’ll see each other again.”

The dragon roar, akin to a mixture of claws scratching iron and ice cracking, echoed off the trees, shaking the snow capes and birds off. Chronosaurion took a few steps away and unfolded his white wings, but looked back at Felix before taking off. He watched him disappear in the grey sky, flying to the north.

 _I really wish this wasn’t our last talk_ , Felix thought when they were leaving Dragonstone at the ship for the free city of Braavos—long years of poverty and wandering with no home and names were waiting for them ahead.


	6. HYUNJAE I

Eric caught him at the stairs in Maegor’s Holdfast when he was getting down from his chambers.

“Are you going to attend the lord regent’s audience?” His younger brother asked in a conspiratorial tone as if his presence was a secret.

Hyunjae stretched out his formal dress adorned with gold and silver and fixed his collar. The older he got, the more fitting the clothes were getting—it was a silent reminder the crown would also be a heavy accessory and the Iron Throne isn’t a soft couch either.

“That, my dear brother, is my holy duty as an heir, so I will obviously be there. On the top of that, it’s my last big audience before my coronation,” he said but the last word almost got stuck in his throat, making him lower his voice.

“Can I go with you?” Eric insisted and nearly climbed the golden stairs parapet in excitement.

“I don’t know,” Hyunjae looked around, making sure nobody else is listening, “I’m not sure the lord regent wants… and the small court…”

Unfortunately, someone is always listening. The walls have eyes and ears, the little birds would sneak in the secret hallways inside the walls, hide behind the invisible doors, pretend to be the kitchen ladies’ children, so they probably knew more than he knew about himself.

“But… did you want me to?” Eric’s eyes burned with wanderlust and desire to experience the things he never could within the Red Keep’s walls.

“You know I can’t imagine my future without you by my side.”

“Then let’s go! I will be at the balcony listening to all this _small_ council,” at these words Eric made a gesture showing something tiny between his fingers, “discussing the coronation of the greatest king ever.”

“I’m not a king yet,” the crown prince laughed, and it created a quiet echo in the long gallery they’ve passed by. “Don’t call me a hero too early, I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“King Hyunjae! Of House Baratheon!” Eric stopped in his tracks and started declaring, waving his hands. “First of his name! King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the Firstmen!”

The heels hitting tiles sound echoes off the high stone walls—both princes quieted down and turned around.

“You boys still are playing?” Soyeon asked them in her haughty tone as she showed up in the western entrance. Her thin arms were crossed at her chest, and she was smirking sarcastically arrogant, as usual. “The time for games is over already, and the chess pieces are real people now. That’s what the future monarchs should be thinking about, aren’t they?”

She knew where to aim her sharp lion claws.

“Lady Soyeon! Are you going anywhere? Shall I accompany you?” Hyunjae asked coldly, stepping to the side in front of his younger brother, as if shielding him from a pair of the eyes in front of them—the red priestess Soojin was also staring with great interest.

“No need to. I’m headed for the audience of His Royal Highness the Lord Regent Sangyeon,” Soyeon declined. Her green eyes were desperately searching for someone to target with another snarky remark, and Hyunjae could feel Eric boiling in rage behind his back.

“I would love to see you gracing us with your presence,” Hyunjae uttered.

“Of course,” she replied with a sugary smile and, bowing her head slightly, headed further in the gallery. Lady Soojin raised her chin proudly and kept floating behind like a red shadow.

“She is so despicable,” Eric hissed through his teeth. “Why is she still in our castle? The Kingsroad is open, nothing is blocking the way to Casterly Rock.”

“A lot of despicable lords and ladies are sitting to the both sides of my regent now,” Hyunjae sighed and looked outside the window. “Therefore would be sitting to the both sides of me.”

“You can kick them out. I think the king should surround himself with the people he trusts.” Eric was speaking from the point of his childlike naivety, but Hyunjae thought to himself—this was way smarter than whatever any wise experienced small council member would say.

“Kick the rats out and the court is empty.”

“That’s tempting though. I’m sick of all these stares and jabs,” Eric pursed his lips, clearly upset.

“Let’s go, the audience starts soon.”

The throne hall always made Hyunjae slightly dizzy even though he spent as much time here as he would in his chambers. The walls are so high you need to throw your head far back to see the ceiling, held by the red columns like great titans. The long galleries and the balconies, decorated with paintings, gold and bronze, stretched out across the walls, so the throne hall could fit thousands of people in the crowd during audiences and events. It was a day like this—the crowd near the Red Keep’s gates was uncountable.

Hyunjae felt very small.

This place was too big for a little human, though not for a Protector of the Seven Kingdoms and the King of the Westeros, he thought as he entered the hall. His eyes would always find the coldest and the darkest spot in the room that stayed as such despite the amount of gold and light around it—the Iron Throne. It was smitten not by the skilled hands but by the blood and sweat of the thousands of the blacksmiths, in the fire breath of the dragon—it was standing on a pedestal like a huge ugly messy chunk of metal. A silent reminder of how many swords have been crossed in hundreds of the battles, how many blades spilled the blood for the swears of honor before Aegon Targaryen conquered the continent. The sharp metal dangerously sticked out, threatening to kill anyone who dared to sit on it but didn't deserve it. Before sitting there the king should’ve walked up a dozen of similarly ugly stair steps, adorned with crooked metallic rose vines.

Being named a king is not enough, the Iron Throne should pick you—the undeserved get cut and die. Hyunjae was afraid he could become one of them someday.

The Lord Regent Sangyeon was the best choice as a temporary replacement for queen Minji before Hyunjae reached legal age. After his aunt’s death, from the Fist of the First Men to the Oldplace no single battle had happened, despite the Long Winter taking lives and deserting whole towns. Lord Sangyeon was the hand of the queen prior to that, so he was influential, but now his power has expanded to the point that he was taken into consideration even behind the seas.

Hyunjae, together with the small council, stood to the right hand of the Throne, and listened with absolutely zero interest. The audience was monotonous and boring—petitioners, peasants, lords and ladies of the faraway lands, all of them attended the Red Keep with a little pointless request or showed up simply to make themself a little bit known to the court, hoping for a raise from the regent. The stability was better than the wars, though, Hyunjae thought and then looked around, searching for Eric in the crowd—his younger brother was at one of the balconies, leaning on one of the columns; he waved at him carefully, avoiding being noticed.

“My lord, someone asks for your immediate attention!” Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Sunwoo announced in his deep voice, overtalking the murmuring in the crowd. “I’m afraid we can’t stop him.”

“Let him in,” Sangyeon said in disinterest and turned to the master of coin, giving him some kind of a sign.

The doors of the throne hall opened as if on their own accord, and it felt like the air got heavier. The stranger, dressed in a red coat, walked in the hall slowly, his heels sound echoing in silence—Hyunjae felt the knocking in his chest. The man’s face was covered by a cape, but the prince still could see that he was young, tall and lithe. Everyone at the audience was staring in interest as the man moved graciously and slowly, as if this was the most anticipated event today.

The man kneeled in front of the Throne and lowered his head. Hyunjae felt uneasy—the primal fear of a trapped prey mixed with a desire to know everything about the stranger. He obviously wasn’t a simple man but he certainly wasn’t some lord’s ambassador.

“Name yourself, stranger,” Sangyeon ordered, finally breaking the silence.

“Is my name important compared to what I’m about to say?” The man’s voice was velvety soft and quiet like a cat's purring, but Hyunjae still heard it clearly, as if he was talking right in his ear.

“What are the words of a man with no name?” The regent jerked his wrist, “besides, I should know the name of the man who will be executed if he says the words tarnishing the court’s honor or targeting anyone in the audience. Name yourself.”

“My name is Juyeon. Juyeon from Asshai,” the young man bowed his head again and demonstrated his right hand, fingers wearing multiple rings with red gems, and then took his cape off.

The crowd fell silent again.

It was a young man, face somehow lacking any kind of imperfection; his hair still damp from the snow outside but still red and brighter than fire, mystically wild and shocking. Lady Soojin also wore red and had hair scarlet like cadmium, either from birth or from hairdye, but Hyunjae still never saw a human like that—it was brighter than Dornish wine shining in the sunlight. The man turned his face to the regent, but for a brief second the prince could swear the dark eyes stopped at him for a moment.

“What brought you here, Juyeon from Asshai?” Sangyeon prompted.

“The flames showed me a lot,” he smirked.

“The Red God and your faith aren’t welcome in this castle,” the regent cut him off. “We are the followers of the Seven and we will not betray our gods, be it in this holy place or any other building.”

“Kicking out a peaceful harmless stranger in front of all these nobly lords and ladies would be really disrespectful and unhonorable,” Juyeon narrowed his eyes, and then caught someone to the left of the regent. “Besides, I see the followers of my faith in the crowd as well.”

His eyes stopped at Soojin, but she only raised her chin higher.

“I will decide what is respectful and what is not,” Sangyeon replied sternly. “What do you want to share, Juyeon from Asshai?”

A strange frenzied smirk touched his lips—his voice changed to one otherworldly and mysterious. “I saw a shining warrior in the fire. His sword was burning holy flames, and a crowned stag was adorning his chest, the animal’s burning heart ready to jump out of the ribs. He was promised to us by the Lord! The fawn blood will rise from the fire and ashes, the shadows will fade, and the ices and frosts will melt,” the priest rose from his knees and turned to Hyunjae, taking a few steps—the guards pointed their spears at him but he ignored it. “Azor Ahai, the Prince of Light! You were born in the snow and the infertile soils, you are among us!”

Juyeon stretched his arm out to Hyunjae, and then slowly clenched his fists like grabbing his heart. Then the priest fell to his knees, like Hyunjae was an idol of a god, and the terrified crowd started gasping and murmuring while stepping away.

“The King who will bring the warmth and light of R’hllor to the Seven Kingdoms,” were the last words of the prophecy Juyeon said.

Hyunjae couldn’t see anything else but these dark piercing eyes in front of him—he was boring a hole in his chest to stare at his soul. The priest could see the ups and downs of the thousands of the kingdoms, he could hear the battles and smell the blood and gunpowder, and all of this was reflecting in him, a man too small for this colossal throne hall, a man too small to sit on the Throne for the King of all Kings.

“Liar!” Soojin’s hysterically high voice echoed across the hall and scratched everyone’s ears as she tried to break out of the crowd, pointing her sharp long nails at Juyeon. “Your god is fake! Your words go against our Lord R’hllor’s will! This wasn’t in the fires!”

Juyeon kept an unfazed expression as if it was a small dog barking at him, but he turned to her before replying, “it seems R’hllor has left you and your flames empty.”

“The Fire of the Lord will devour your tongue,” she growled out as the guard finally managed to grab her by the dresses back into the crowd. The lords and the ladies stared at her in disdain but she only huffed at that.

“The Lord speaks with my tongue, woman! The smoldering coals tell no truth, accept and surrender.”

Before the priestess once again jumped forward with her claws, showing the guests and the guards away, Ser Sunwoo stopped this, commanding them:

“Silence in the throne hall!”

Sangyeon laughed to himself at the scene in front of him and raised his hand asking for absolute silence. “Well, we listened to you, The Reverend Father. Unfortunately for you, we never know if this was the truth or you were just barking at the wind.”

“The fire never lies,” Juyeon shrugged. “I said the truth.”

“The Father, The Mother and The Warrior never lie,” Sangyeon uttered, staring down at him from the height of the Throne. “And they will say the truth when the young prince becomes the king and takes my seat.”

“I didn’t disrespect your faith, my lord, so I hope for you to not disrespect mine.”

“You broke into the throne hall like a noble lord or an herold with urgent news, but you turned out to be neither. You gave a speech that could possibly create troubles in the court right before the coronation, made a scene because of your Red God and now ask for respect? You deserve death, priest.”

“The one who owns death is not afraid of it.” As Juyeon said that, the crowd gasped and started murmuring again.

“We’ll see you owning death when your head is laying at the executioner’s block,” Sangyeon then signaled to the guards, “get the madman out.”

The kingsguard dressed in white capes immediately circled the priest and dragged him out of the throne hall. Juyeon grinned animalistically and tried to break out.

“The end will come!” He yelled at last when they almost dragged him to the doors. “It will come from the kraken with antlers! The horns of iron and salt will rip you open! The bastard will come to take what is his by birth right! The death will come, great lord, the fire spoke this many times! The teeth will sink into your flesh!”

The doors closed, and the crowd immediately burst into loud talks, discussing what just happened, but Hyunjae still couldn’t get Juyeon’s sinister laughter and insane stare out of his head. He came back to his senses when someone showed him on his shoulder—the crowd started going wild, asking the lord for the explanations, so Hyunjae tried to search for his brother on the balconies, but it was empty already.

He found Eric in his chambers, hiding near his bed, curled up in a ball and shaking in fear and tears. The prince locked the doors and rushed to him.

“He knows something, Hyunjae,” Eric blabbered out, eyes lost, “this priest knows about me. He was talking about me in the end, wasn’t he?”

Hyunjae hugged Eric tightly, feeling him shaking against his chest, and ran his fingers through his blonde hair. “No, Eric, it wasn’t about you. Fake god and its lies. Forget about it like it was a nightmare. No one will touch you ever,” he said calmly, but his heart was shaken by a storm.

After a half and a year a white raven came from Oldplace—with King Hyunjae’s reign, the spring has come to the Seven Kingdoms.


	7. WOOYOUNG I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry we're cringe

“I was thinking of executing you next week.”

“Only next week?!” Wooyoung whines in frustration and falls on his knees dramatically, gripping at the chains hanging in the cell.

“Um, yes. What, you’re this eager to die?” Younghoon looks genuinely confused.

“Please, gracious Lord Arryn… I can’t do this anymore,” Wooyoung presses his forehead to the cold wall and exhales loudly.

Eyrie’s Sky cells, surely, would be the worst prison Wooyoung has ever gone into—he would’ve never known he would miss the claustrophobic feeling of the walls suffocating you with the humid stall air. The open sky next to him, a mocking invitation that drives him crazy, the wind blows, calling him over, he looks outside sometimes—you can see the Vale of Arryn, and, sometimes, during the clear weather, the shore. The wind laughs at him—there’s an exit over here. At the very least, in the normal jails there’s no talkative lords visiting you all the time. Wooyoung used to be so full of life and so optimistic it would drag his crew out of most hopeless situations, but for now he only longs to die. There’s nothing left.

When Wooyoung got captured by the Stark’s bannermen, it was still winter, frosty and blinding white, but now he could see it from above—the mists became less apparent, and the greens started showing up in the Vale. It also got less cold in his cell.

Wooyoung went through the whole Long Winter and now is going to be executed at the very beginning of the spring—it’s a little bit upsetting but only because he feels like it’s unfair. Though he always lived, keeping in mind the possibility of being imprisoned, it still never occurred to him that it’s a real thing—he felt like it’s something that happens to others, he himself would never get caught. The spring starting only adds the tragedy to his fate, everything is singing and blooming, and he will not be able to experience it again.

Younghoon walks closer and sits on the bench, arms crossed. Wooyoung looks over in faint disinterest—blue formal dress embroidered with silver, the lord's serious expression and an intrigued stare through dark bangs, a keychain in his hand. Wooyoung moves his eyes away from the keys immediately so Lord Arryn won’t notice—he still stupidly hopes for him to lower his defenses someday. Wooyoung daydreams of holding the key to his cell, was he stupid, he’d attacked Younghoon during one of these late night talks, but he understands very well—he doesn’t matter to Younghoon at all so he won’t hesitate to push him off the cliff. The risk of falling with an uncareful step is too high. Younghoon very obviously knows this. It can’t be anything other than outrageous mockery—he definitely heard of Grey Nightmare’s insanity as well. He is here to laugh at his hopelessness.

They say that Eyrie is the worst jail to go into—you will lose your mind even if you live; the guards say he’s the first one to not jump off the cliff after a month.

“Are you planning to stop sulking anytime soon because I came to talk here,” Younghoon asks impatiently. Wooyoung raises his head from staring at the tied together chains and gives him a tired head shake.

“Go ahead, my lord. I only long for freedom,” Wooyoung sighs out and lowers on the floor to lay down.

“If I was you I’d listen carefully,” Younghoon grins. “It’s a huge secret, so I’m sharing it to you only because you’re going to be executed.”

“What’s the point of sharing it then?”

“Seven hells, I’m itching to tell someone!” Younghoon raises his voice and it slightly echoes outside. “That’s such a huge thing. It can literally start a war. Were we under Targaryens, they would’ve executed everyone who knew that.”

 _Shut up, please_ , Wooyoung thinks to himself but even in this situation he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. Technically, he won’t do anything, he’s gonna die anyway.

Younghoon takes a deep breath and grins excitedly. “So you understand, don’t tell anyone but…”

Lord Stark yelled at Hongjoong ‘Anything that comes before the word but is horseshit’, Wooyoung gets reminded of it involuntarily and curses at himself that he really is thinking about that jackal during his last days. He didn’t deserve that. But this quote was funny, he’s not going to lie.

“But… that guy from your crew is a Baratheon bastard.”

Wooyoung whines. “Be more specific. We’ve got eight dudes here. Actually, yeah, we have two Pykes here. This was a dumb question. Seonghwa was acknowledged already. Yeosang, I guess.”

“He’s the pretty one, I was so surprised to see someone like him on a pirate ship.”

Wooyoung sighs. “You’ve driven the silly me crazy, my lord. I don’t think I recognize the truth anymore.”

“No, it’s true,” he laughs, “didn’t you ever think he kinda looks like the other Baratheons? Queen Minji had black hair and grey eyes too.”

Wooyoung can’t think about the credibility of this claim, now he just really misses Yeosang. It’s been eight months in this jail and the last thing they’ve talked about was some really dumb shit. They didn’t come to free him. Maybe because it would be really stupid to do so, last time they came to fight on land ended badly.

“Do you need to go out to pray in the sept before your death?” Younghoon asks nicely. What a fucking idiot, Wooyoung thinks—the genuine offer only infuriates him. It’s unfair. Very unfair.

“I’m an ironborn, my lord,” he sighs out weakly, “I believe in the Drowned God.”

“You don’t pray? Even before the death?”

“What is dead may never die.” He says and sighs. “We don’t pray because we simply go to God's galley for an eternal sea journey.”

“That’s so upsetting. You aren’t granted peace after death,” Younghoon sounds deeply troubled by this fact.

Wooyoung thinks of something smart to reply but suddenly feels too unbothered for that. He simply closes eyes and waits, guessing by the sounds—the clothes rustle, the heels hit the floor, the door creaks and gives a soft thud when it’s closed; Lord Arryn leaves him in the tantalizing silence of his cell.

The wind calls for him—Wooyoung has given up on the easy ways to escape and lately started considering literally jumping off to end his misery. How can he die knowing that Yeosang is a Baratheon but how can he live this week knowing it and being unable to share? Like Arryn said, were they under Targaryen reign and was he the king’s bastard, everyone who knew that would have had their heads on spikes displayed at the King’s Landing.

Would Baratheons get tired someday and just send a skilled assassin after him to deal with this possibility all at once? Could this have happened already?

Wooyoung feels so hopeless he’s about to literally walk out of the window and climb the Eyrie down by the wall.

The days of the next week melt into each other, and the day of the execution gets closer. Younghoon still comes over with a small talk every day, but doesn’t stay for too long—apparently now, after he shared the biggest secret of his life, he has nothing to talk about.

It’s two days before the execution when he stays for longer—the sunset light falls into the cell, making it warm, so Wooyoung listens in sleepy daze, praying for him to leave more than listening to the lord.

“…You’re so young. Probably the youngest one to be executed during my rule,” Younghoon says thoughtfully.

 _Well, don’t execute me then_ , Wooyoung thinks to himself and leans against the wall. The benches were the only piece of furniture in the cell—apparently, for the visitors, because instead of a bed he only had a thick blanket lying on the floor here. Wooyoung secretly guessed the seats were added here only because Lord Arryn loved to talk to his prisoners too much, and standing for such a long time for a noble lord was pretty troublesome.

“I’m going to take your life when you haven’t experienced a lot of beautiful things,” the lord continues with an expression full of comparison. “Hope at least you’ve experienced the warmth of a woman.”

Wooyoung chuckles bitterly. “Women, men, I’m not worried about missing out on this one.”

Younghoon nods knowingly and the keychain slips off his grip on the bench. Wooyoung points it out in disinterest and immediately looks up into the lord’s eyes. A little smoldering speck of hope—it wouldn’t happen but he could try anyway. He has nothing to lose.

“What did you miss out on then?”

“Me? Let me think,” Wooyoung crosses his arms on his chest. “Not much, actually, but I wanted to see a dragon. Remember when Targaryens still were here? The dragons just hatched and literally everyone only talked about this. Everyone went to Dragonstone to see it but we were planning the rebellion.”

“Oh, right,” Younghoon nodded. “I saw them. We went for an audience and the beast was roaming over the castle. The red one. I don’t think anyone saw the ice dragon.”

He leans back on the seat, supporting himself with his arms—the bench shakes slightly and the keys slip on the ground, and Wooyoung coughs to cover up the clinking sound, more reflective than actually planning it out.

This can’t be real.

“We, uh…” Wooyoung tries desperately to act natural but his heart is about to jump out of his chest. He clears his throat again. “We tried to marry off San and Hongjoong. We didn’t even try to buy dragons, it was just a nice offer, like, two great houses joining each other in a marriage, and she would be so nice to let us borrow the dragons to burn down the Winterfell. That prude probably burned the letters without even reading.”

“A lady of iron fist,” Younghoon laughs to himself. “That would’ve been more surprising if she agreed to marriage. What a femme fatale. The people would’ve been saying Lady Gahyeon bends Lord Hongjoong over and takes him from behind with an olisbos. San too, probably.”

Wooyoung fails to suppress a snort. “Well, what about you, my lord? If you were to die tomorrow, how many regrets would you have?”

Younghoon sighs deeply and leans to the front, resting his chin on his hand. “Plenty. Don’t tell anyone but I have never felt the warmth of a human being against me.”

“Whoa,” Wooyoung couldn’t help but gasp. “First ever lord virgin in the history of Westeros. It’s okay, though, sex is not the most important thing in the world.”

“I know, I know, but, like,” Younghoon hides his face in hands and groans loudly. “It’s so stupid that it’s not even my fault!”

Wooyoung feverishly calculates how to pick the key up with the tip of his boot and get it closer to him. Now when Younghoon is not looking, he can stretch his leg out and—

“With all my due respect, but my dear mother ruined my life!” Lord Arryn starts wallowing, face still hidden—his shoulders shake with his deep sighs.

“I know this feeling, man,” Wooyoung nods, not even faking any empathy in his voice.

“Literally everyone knows she breastfed me until I was five! Nobody wants to fuck with the Lord Tittysucker!”

“Oh, whoa, that’s strange. I know plenty of women like their tits sucked,” Wooyoung finally picks the moment to reach out his leg and cover the key with his foot. He carefully drags it closer so at least he can sit back on the bench. “That’s, like, a pretty big thing. Maybe you just haven’t met the right one. Start presenting yourself like that, like, yes, I’m the Lord Tittysucker, and my titty-sucking skills will leave you gripping sheets.”

Younghoon looks up to him through his fingers. Wooyoung freezes in the place, leg stretched too awkwardly. “You really think so?”

“I am a son of a whore. I know what I’m talking about, my lord.”

Younghoon hides his face in his hands to groan again, and Wooyoung now abruptly drags his foot on the floor. The key is now under his bench, he just has to hope the lord won’t notice. This now makes him feel too cocky.

“If you feel like you’re missing out too much, we can fuck,” Wooyoung offers shamelessly. Younghoon moves his hands to rest his chin on them. “Not for money, but, like, you let me out, we go to your chambers, you take me the whole night and suck my tits, then I run away into the sunrise and we never meet again…”

Younghoon laughs at that light-heartedly. “You silly. I can see through you. I’m not letting you out.”

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Wooyoung clicks his tongue and sighs.

Younghoon makes a somber expression again. “I can’t even imagine growing up in such a place like a brothel… It must be so rough.”

 _Goddammit, you fucking chatterbox_ , Wooyoung curses to himself and shrugs. “Didn’t have the pleasure to experience a better childhood. I’ve seen so many tits in my juvenile years they don’t excite me anymore.”

“No way,” Younghoon gasps. “That’s so upsetting. Honestly, everything about this is so upsetting. Were you the only one child here?”

Wooyoung feels repressed memories crawl out as he’s being forced to reminisce of the past, and grips the bench to ground himself. “There was one kid. You know, they usually try to send us to fathers or abandoned at the villages for other people to raise.”

Lord Arryn looks like he’s about to tear up. “Do you miss your friend and mother?”

“I was seeing my friend regularly.” He takes a deep inhale—now the reality finally catches up with him. Last time he saw Yeosang was eight months ago; this was the last time in his life. “My mother literally told me to never come back, so I accepted that.”

“I guess that’s understandable,” Younghoon sniffs, “but so sad… Why are you evil, I feel so bad for executing you… You never saw a dragon and your mother kicked you out… But I must… Because you’re evil…”

“See, my lord, nothing in this world is black and white,” Wooyoung smirks bitterly.

“I hope at the very least you will have a safe sea journey on the galley with your god,” he says and sighs deeply.

 _I’m gonna kill this guy for making me sad_ , Wooyoung thinks to himself as he watches Lord Arryn get up from the bench and walk out of the cell.

The soft thud is followed by absolute silence and Wooyoung nearly starts screaming.

Lord Arryn talked so much he literally forgot to lock him back up. This key stealing trick wasn’t necessary. On the second thought, him not having the key in his hand was the reason why he forgot about it.

He can think about it later, when he’s out of this goddamn place—Wooyoung hasn't processed anything yet, he just waits for ten minutes so the sun disappears behind the horizon fully and the lord for sure leaves the prison tower, and slips out of the cell. It feels strange, to think that he had spent eight months in one chamber and it’s the first time he leaves it, on top of that two days before his execution.

The prison feels abandoned—once again, it’s not a place where people stay for a long time; he might be the only one imprisoned at the moment. No matter how he tries, his steps make a faint echo in the dark corridors. It feels more like a regular castle corridor than a jail, the air is too fresh at this height—for a first month it used to make him dizzy for some reason but he eventually got used to it. It’d be upsetting if the humid sea winds would make him nauseous like that too—there’s nothing that he misses more than sailing and his crew.

His luck ends in one of the hallway turns—he literally walks into a guard.

Wooyoung had seen Yeonjun, obviously, he has been checking up on him frequently as the commander of the guard; a pretty nice guy compared to all the other guards of the other prisons Wooyoung has been to. There’s nothing much he could point out about him besides that, he just never thought of it—now he thinks he looks too lithe for a warrior, and Wooyoung could take him out easily, even unarmed.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Yeonjun sounds more shocked than angry. Well, it really might be the first time in history for someone to escape the Eyrie sky cells.

Wooyoung thinks desperately of what to reply. “Have you ever tried… the dark mushroom tobacco?”

Yeonjun still looks confused. “What? No.”

“Damn. I got some,” he pulls out a joint out of the pocket of his coat.

This was a real story—eight months ago he bought a bit of dark mushroom tobacco from a merchant from Asshai for crazy money, and a few days after he got caught. To be honest, he has forgotten about it, and he can only hope that it didn’t get wet or lose its magical properties. The merchant kept saying that one inhale of the smoke would let you meet R’hllor or something like this, Wooyoung obviously felt too intrigued to share it with an enemy but this was a matter of his life and death.

“Wait, real Shadowland dark mushroom tobacco?” Yeonjun forgets about everything else and walks closer. He takes the joint to examine it closely, looking at it from every side and, not finding any points of concern, looks at Wooyoung. “This is confiscated now.”

“Sure,” Wooyoung points at one of the torches at the wall, “go ahead, good ser.”

Yeonjun must be as intrigued as him about the magical weed, or just simply very stupid, Wooyoung thinks as he watches the guard blaze the joint up with the torch fire and bring it to his mouth. For like a minute Yeonjun says nothing, just taking deep inhales of the smoke, and Wooyoung waits patiently. He could’ve probably run away easily, but, honestly, he’s interested too.

“Seven hells… Have you smoked it yourself?” Yeonjun asks, slurring words but anger still apparent in his voice.

Wooyoung starts sweating. “Well—”

“Answer, did you?” He cuts him off and takes another drag.

“Didn’t have time yet,” he blurts out.

Yeonjun exhales the smoke deeply. “Don’t even fucking think of it. This shit is too good.”

“Okay. I promise not to smoke,” Wooyoung shrugs and makes one step but Yeonjun hits the wall in front of him with his arm, blocking the way.

“Where are you going?”

“O-outside.” He stumbles on his words—suddenly he realizes he really did lose this chance. “I’ll get you more of this good shit.”

Yeonjun just stares back, forming his thoughts, and Wooyoung thinks that he doesn’t have much of a choice left.

“Besides, don’t you agree I’m too sexy to die? Look, it’s a crime on itself to keep me in a cell,” he gives him a sultry smile and waits patiently.

Yeonjun takes a drag and stares Wooyoung down. This was too much of a terribly familiar look—a part of Wooyoung curses the dark mushroom tobacco really made him agitated like that. “Maybe. Son of a whore, are you, perhaps, one of them as well?”

“What, you want me?” Wooyoung leans a bit closer to the front. Dark mushroom tobacco has this weird burning weed smell that he couldn’t describe as anything else but dark mushroom tobacco smell. This was truly one of a kind thing.

“Of course,” Yeonjun narrows his eyes and smirks. “I’m stuck guarding this prison.”

“Aw, poor guy,” Wooyoung starts faking the honey complaisant voice and pouts. “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.”

“But,” Yeonjun puts out a hand in front of himself, as if stopping him, “go get yourself this dark mushroom tobacco. And get me more too. This is insane, I need you to try it out too.”

God must really hate to see him on his ship, this can’t be explained otherwise than some divine intervention. No way he has escaped the execution through an intimate talk, mythical weed and a sole promise to fuck with the guard—not even an actual night in exchange for help. Nobody will believe him.

“Of course, love,” Wooyoung purrs into his ear, sneaking out in the hallway between the guard’s body and the wall. “I’ll be fast. Wait for me in your chambers.”

Yeonjun hums in response and mindlessly shoves him his cape while taking the last drag—the joint is almost burned down already. Wooyoung nearly forgot about any kind of disguise, not even hoping the castle is empty at this hour or something, he just goes with the flow now, still in slight shock from what just happened. The memories of eight months are too distant but it’s not like he visited a lot of different locations since that—he easily finds his way down the tower and intuitively heads outside. He meets the guards and passes them in a nervous fast step, but thankfully, nobody gives him a second thought as he’s wearing Yeonjun’s robe—blue, embroidered with silver, too long for his shorter height. At the inner yard he finds the stable and catches the first horse he meets, and heads it out of the Eyrie by the road as fast as he could. Wooyoung was an ironborn, he wasn’t a fan of horse rides like the rest of Westerosi landscrubbers so it wasn’t the most comfortable way of traveling, but he had no choice—using public stables was too dangerous, at least in the Vale. He tells himself to not stop until he reaches the Riverlands at least, but he stops at the village before the Bloody gates to steal food. The mountain pass itself feels peaceful—the summertime usually was dangerous because of the wild clans dwelling here, and the winters were harsh with the snowstorms, but it was quiet now in the spring.

The snow was still lying on the ground, white plops among the wet dirt or bright weeds, and the trees were surrounded by a green haze of young leaves. The spring has come even to the northern parts of the continent—and Wooyoung now feels overwhelmingly alive, sprinting through the mountains and meadows on a horse while Lord Arryn is cursing out himself, and the headsman was left with no job that morning.

It takes him like a week to reach the Iron isles where he can at least feel comfortable—now there was no feeling of being followed even though Lord Tully was on their side, he was at home, protected by the winds and the waters. A week and a whole day of getting to Pyke castle, and Wooyoung feels out of breath when he pushes the heavy doors and limps into the throne room. Even at this early morning, a number of pairs of the eyes stare at him in shock—Hongjoong, the court of the Pyke including the crewmembers, different Greyjoy bannermen, a small crowd of people asking for an audience—all of them are at a loss of words.

“You guys will not fucking believe me,” is the only thing he says before collapsing on the floor, and it echoes in silence of the hall.

The private talk barely lasts an hour—Hongjoong’s expression becomes deeply troubled, and he tells him to meet up with the rest of the crew in his solar after the sunset, apparently still having the lord duties to do today. Wooyoung weakly accepts a tight hug from Yunho and excuses himself to take some rest. A bath, a dinner and an afternoon slumber, and he feels like he was born again, and the time comes closer to the sunset—he has to get ready for that meeting.

Wooyoung refuses to go alone, not because he feels awkward now, rather because he just misses everyone—the first pick is the closest inn to the castle, where he hopes to see someone this evening.

He guesses right—San is there, seated at one of the benches with no table, back leaned to the wall; he’s accompanied by five more men Wooyoung doesn’t know and three women, one of them at his lap. San is very obviously having some good time and Wooyoung feels a little bad taking him out of here.

“…And the forest spirit says ‘that’s my first time seeing something like this’”, the men burst out in loud laughter and the women giggle sheepishly—the girl at San’s lap slaps his chest lightly. San finally notices him coming up and raises his cup to greet him. “My friend! Grey Nightmare!”

“Man, Hongjoong said to see him after the sunset,” Wooyoung walks over and crosses his arms on his chest. One of the women starts staring at him meaningfully—he ignores it for now but takes a mental note.

“And the sun only touched the towers of Pyke,” San points out smugly. “Tell us the story of how you escaped the Eyrie, since you’re here.”

“Eyrie?!” All three women and one man gasp simultaneously—four other men also look at him in shock.

“C’mon,” San encourages him with a nod and hugs the woman in his lap closer. “Give people a week and they’ll make epic ballads about it.”

“Epic ballads about Lord Arryn forgetting to lock the cell and then me smoking Asshai dark mushroom tobacco with the guard.”

“That’s how the most epic ballads go, Wooyoung,” San laughs and then suddenly goes serious, “you smoked dark mushroom with a guard?!”

Wooyoung shrugs and turns around, walking out of the inn. In the noise of the crowd he picks out San murmuring something sweet to the girl from his lap—even when he almost catches up with Wooyoung, he still walks backwards, sending her a flying kiss and waving at her until they completely leave the tavern.

“See, the sun is almost down,” Wooyoung points to the sky. “We’ll get to the castle right in time.”

San huffs, annoyed. “Whatever. I’m too nice to joke about you being jealous of the fact I had a cute girl on my lap and was about to have the time of my life.”

“You sure would’ve had the time of your life if you’d missed the meeting,” he shakes his head and starts walking faster.

San doesn’t reply anything for a few minutes of walking and then tells him, “I actually had a dream a few days ago. I was a horse carrying a man through the Riverlands.”

Wooyoung bursts out laughing. “You were seeing with my horse’s eyes?!”

San’s odd eyes glitter slightly in the dim lighting—his left green eye more visible than the dark one. “I don’t know! And like a week ago I saw an eagle flying out of the nest. Eyrie, I mean. I was thinking a lot about it so maybe this witch blood did a thing.”

Wooyoung would call San the least ironborn out of them—a child of the great house, follower of the faith of the Seven, surprisingly lovely personality; though there were no complaints of his battle skills and it’s all that mattered to Hongjoong. Wooyoung ended up genuinely enjoying his company despite him combining all the aspects he disliked. San was the least ironborn but the seas brought the wildling half out of him—Lord Tully’s second wife was of freefolk. There was some serious scandal back then, Wooyoung only heard of it briefly and frankly didn’t care. People would say San was an exact copy of his mother—rough thick black hair with a sole white strand, like he was approaching his old age in early twenties, and sharp face features. His mother also had strangely hypnotizing green eyes, and San by some magic was born with oddly colored eyes. The left green one had a bright shade—maybe exactly the same shade his mother had; Hongjoong and Mingi also had green eyes but of a calmer color. San’s mother definitely was some kind of a wildling witch, and he inherited her magical powers—he would often say he dreamed of something nonsensical but similar to the reality when major things happened to them in the world. The latest one Wooyoung remembers was a dream of the sun rising up at the horizon, and it shed the light on the blooming valley; next day Hongjoong received a white raven from the Citadel—the maesters from here sent a letter to every lord notifying them that the spring has come.

San leaves straight for the Sea Tower but Wooyoung takes a different way, heading to the raven hall—when they weren’t sailing, that’s where Yeosang would spend his days, reading ancient books with maesters or tending to the birds. How could such a gentle soul end up on a pirate ship, was a mystery even to the rest of the court.

He hasn't seen Yeosang in almost a year, and though it’s not a long time for someone’s appearance to change, yet Wooyoung gets taken aback when he nearly walks into him in the hallway.

“Hi. Haven’t greeted you properly yet, friend,” Yeosang gives him a familiar gentle smile, but Wooyoung still feels like he’s been struck to his head. That’s the person he’d known for his entire life—literally, because they were born the same year but a few months apart—and still he feels like he sees him for the first time ever.

He had never noticed it, but now, after Lord Arryn’s words, he can see it—he had seen the queen and her brothers, he had seen the younger Baratheon generation, and it was painfully obvious. Same dark hair like the Fawns have, same grey eyes like Minji had. Same soft fluid lines of the face features. Again, how could a lowborn woman give birth to such a handsome man, unless the father was a noble?

“I-it was a few hours anyway,” Wooyoung gives him a stupid grin. “I didn’t even process it myself yet.”

“It’s understandable,” he shrugs. “I think I heard Jongho wailing about all his ballads of our journeys speaking of you in past tense would never see the light now.”

Wooyoung sighs deeply. “With all my respect, his ballads was the thing I’ve missed the least.”

“Hope I was closer to the top of the list,” Yeosang smiles timidly and mindlessly fixes the scarf hanging off his neck.

“Of course,” Wooyoung even chuckles. That was a stupid question—of course his best friend would be at the top of the things he missed.

Yeosang’s hand holds into the piece of cloth lightly, like he’s hesitating to drag Wooyoung by it somewhere. When he hears the response, his smile gets slightly wider. “Well, that’s great. I think we should go, or Hongjoong will lose it.”

He then pretty roughly shoves him into the wall to pass by him—when Wooyoung yells in protest, he just looks over his shoulder, laughs and picks up the pace in the direction of the hallway leading to the bridge.

They gather when the moon completely comes out, illuminating the solar with no walls. The soft breeze still bites lightly—even though the spring has come, the frosty nights were still apparent, and the nighttime in the sea is never warm.

Hongjoong is the only one sitting—though he always treated them as equals, and San was a fellow lord, they all still had infinite respect for their captain and the lord suzerain. Lord Greyjoy has his legs crossed and supports one of his arms by elbow as he bites into his thumb, expression full of overwhelming worry. He’s very obviously concerned with what to do with the information he had got his hands on.

“Maybe we should ask Yeosang himself,” Seonghwa prompts, the only one daring to break the silence—the quartermaster has more power on the ship than a captain, he was always the one who had strength in himself to disobey and disagree.

“Whatever Hongjoong will say,” Yeosang responds quietly. Hongjoong still does not give any response.

“All of the options could be roughly narrowed to two ways,” Mingi starts thinking out loud, “sharing it and not sharing it. But if it’s true, it obviously can give us an advantage over Baratheons.”

“You can tell it to Lady Soyeon,” Jongho inserts. “About time to stop simply sending ships with gold and goods to her sister in Lannisport. Time to share something valuable. I’m sure she will find a way to use this information against the fawns.”

“One raven to Storm’s End will get us half the western North shore,” Yunho adds. “Also you can find a way to just… you know, pass this information among people. Not like they’d fancy a bastard but this will be a spot on Baratheon’s reputation anyway.”

San and Mingi both start talking at the same time, and Hongjoong finally releases his thumb from his teeth and signals for silence with his hand. “Interesting suggestions, for sure, but we need to be more careful. I think you forgot I have my younger brother locked up in Winterfell.”

Wooyoung frowns himself and notices many expressions get darker—Changmin was loved among the court and the crew. All of them were ready to die for the young lord.

“And Stark’s fuckbuddy happens to be a Baratheon,” Hongjoong continues, a smirk growing wider into an animalistic snarl. “So imagine if this jackal gets a letter where I threaten to release the information unless he gives me my brother back… Then we can do anything we want. For now my hands are tied. He won’t hesitate to kill him, you know how fucking cold-blooded he is.”

Wooyoung clenches his teeth in anger. With all this imprisoning, he nearly forgot how much he despised Stark.

“After that I think I might tell it to Soyeon, if she won’t find out first,” Hongjoong straightens his posture and moves to the table, getting the paper and ink ready.

“Amazing plan, my great lord,” Mingi compliments nearly mockingly, but Hongjoong still smirks to himself, listening to the others mutter in agreement.

The letter is short, and he writes it very quickly. Hongjoong lets the raven out himself—the bird disappears in the night immediately, black feathers blending with the darkness—and turns around to the crew with a sinister snarl. Wooyoung doesn’t look around obviously, so he only sees a few expressions—Seonghwa has a gentle smile with only the corners of his mouth slightly tugged; Mingi stands with his left missing eye to him so Wooyoung only sees a wide grin in his face; he can hear San muttering quiet words of impression…

Yeosang very obviously tries to hide the fact he’s deeply troubled by the latest events.


	8. CHAN II

They were coming back from a wedding—one of the bannermen was waiting for the spring to marry his son to a woman from another bannermen house—despite the ‘Winterfell must always have a Stark’ unspoken rule, all four of them were attending. This was the first big event for both Shuhua and Jeongin, as in the winter there weren’t any events and they were too young during the autumn, and the kids, putting it lightly, were overjoyed—Siyeon had to yell at them all the time so they’ll stop having pony races and run around the castle.

“My lord, you should see this,” one of the rangers called for Chan when they were crossing the forest—he got off his horse and followed him to the ravine.

It’s too obvious to mistake it for something—it was a direwolf. A dead one, and was so for a pretty long time—the strong smell of rotting flesh stung his eyes as soon as he walked closer, and he felt an urge to throw up, the flies and worms were in the huge wound on the animal’s neck, nape all covered in blood. It was probably a bitch, because next to her he noticed three more little lumps of the same grey fur—the pups had died without a mother feeding them. An unsettling view.

“Can you bury them? I don’t want vultures to prey on her,” Chan says in a strained voice. “Bad sign.”

“Roger,” the ranger salutes him and calls for help.

“Wait!”

Chan missed the moment when Siyeon, Shuhua and Jeongin walked closer—and now Jeongin jumps down the cliff into the ravine and walks to the dead direwolves. Kids are crazy, Chan thinks to himself, too taken aback to stop him—Jeongin picks up one of the pups and pokes others, but frowns when nothing happens.

“This one is alive,” he says and shows the pup out to him, holding it under its front legs with his hands. It keeps whining quietly. “Can I keep him?”

Chan opens his mouth in shock.

“Jeongin, that’s a direwolf. Not a dog,”Siyeon points out.

“And what about it?” That’s even cooler,” he makes a bratty pout, trying to affect her.

“What about it is that direwolves grow to pony size and could bite a grown man’s leg off,” she says sternly, not allowing any disagreement. “No servant or huntsman would come closer to this beast, so when it grows up untrained, it will injure you and run away to the forest. Get it here, I’ll mercy kill it and we’ll go home.”

Siyeon takes a dagger off her belt and Shuhua immediately jumps off her pony to stand between her siblings. “I will help him!”

The pup whines a little bit aggressively, as if it could understand what they’re talking about.

“Stop this nonsense,” Siyeon dismounts too, but stands away. “You two are grown already, this isn’t a toy or something. This is a wild beast.”

“Please, Siyeon, I promise I will take care of him,” Jeongin whines and hugs the pup closer. “I will feed him myself and train and—”

“Cha-a-an!” Shuhua cuts him off by a loud yell, voice as if she was complaining about being picked on. Chan jerks out of his thoughts and meets her eyes. “Tell her!”

“I, uh… She’s right,” Chan starts nervously, and then notices Jeongin’s expression drop and his heart breaks into pieces. “So you have to be extra careful. Raise him, but don’t waste the court’s time. Do it yourself. If he hurts anyone, I will assume it’s because you undertrained him and we will kill him.”

Siyeon frowns, but puts her knife back in the scabbard and returns to her horse.

“Thank you!” Shuhua jumps up and down excitedly, sinking lower and lower into dirt. Jeongin just smiles thankfully—he will probably talk to him later, at least Chan decided to do so.

They leave a group of warriors to bury the direwolf bitch and the rest of the litter. They go slow so the rangers won’t stray too far in the forest and because Jeongin struggles to ride his pony with one hand—the other hand is holding the pup to his chest. Shuhua is riding next to him, constantly looking at the animal and cooing.

Siyeon slows down her horse to walk beside Chan. “You know well he’ll get tired of it in a week.”

“I don’t think so,” Chan shakes his head. “This will be a good lesson of responsibility. Raise a beast so it obeys you. Don’t you think that’s a good metaphor of lordship?”

Siyeon exhales through her nose in annoyance.

“I feel like you’re always doing everything against me,” she says dryly and kicks her horse so it walks in the front among the guards.

It’s the next morning when Chan finds the kids in the corner of the stable, together with their little pup. Jeongin is holding it in his hands and feeding through a wet piece of cloth, and Shuhua is holding the bowl of milk.

“He doesn’t like me,” Shuhua complains in a loud whisper. “Not like _hate_ hates me, but he doesn’t let me hold him.”

“I have a bond with him,” Jeongin tells her smugly. “I’m his warg.”

“Sure,” she rolls her eyes.

He looks up to Chan who crouched next to them to take a closer look. “Anyways, I think it’s been two weeks or so.”

A little lump of dark grey fur, almost the same shade as Jeongin’s hair. He blinks slowly—his eyes are already opened, a shade of dark yellow, like two glowing ambers.

“Did you name him?” Chan asks.

Jeongin shakes his head. “I should think it out, shouldn’t I?”

“Fair.”

It’s quiet for some time—Jeongin finished feeding his pup and threads through the soft fur, lulling him to sleep. Shuhua, still holding the bowl in her hands, hovers over to look, not daring to touch even if he’s asleep.

 _They’re going to be alright_ , Chan thinks to himself, _two Starks can tame a direwolf for sure._ People, even Siyeon, underestimate Jeongin for his age, but sometimes he’s surprisingly mature—Chan hopes their parents would be proud that he grew into such a mentally strong young man.

Yugyeom finds him outside in the inner yard for the first time in months—last time he left personally to get the news was when the white raven from the Citadel arrived, another time was after Minji’s murder. Chan didn’t know what to expect—this could be both good and bad news.

“A raven from… raven from Pyke, my lord,” he says, still out of breath. There’s no letter on him and he urges him to follow back to the tower.

“What would the great King of Salt and Rock need from a silly me,” Chan laughs nervously.

The raven tower is in mess—Yugyeom, apparently, noticed it immediately, so he locked the Pyke crow away and kept his crows locked too. The Pyke crow kept hitting the cage with its wings and cawing loudly, to which Winterfell ravens responded very actively—in result, the hall was very noisy and covered in black feathers when they entered here.

Yugyeom silently gives him the unsealed letter and Chan feels like his heart is trying to fly out of his chest, like all these ravens here. Jokes aside, a sudden letter from a defeated enemy can’t be a good sign. Changmin always sent Winterfell ravens, and Hongjoong would just send it back. This, however, means he had to say something personally to Starks.

Chan unrolls it, reads the only one sentence twice or thrice before it sets in, and he has to sit down on the chair.

_“Give me my brother back or everyone will know I have a Baratheon in my crew”_


	9. SOYEON II

Soyeon walks in at the worst and the best moment simultaneously.

“Ser Sunwoo of House Connington. You’ve served us well, but…” Sangyeon takes a pause, letting the people in the crowd whisper words of worry to each other, “but King Hyunjae believes your time in the Kingsguard has come to an end.”

The court gasps and lets Soyeon get through it to the first rows easily—she now can see the rest of the scene herself.

“The Kingsguard’s knighthood lasts until their death,” Sunwoo utters bitterly, still kneeled. “But be as you wish, Your Highness.”

“Your knighthood is getting drunk at the inns and fucking whores,” Hyunjae talks over him with an audible growl in his voice. The little boy has been on the Iron Throne for less than a year and already turned into a royal bitch. It truly can only be the work of Sangyeon—the hand of the king is bursting with pride at the moment, proving her guesses. “Your long tongue nearly put Seven Kingdoms at war. Speaks a lot about your duty as a protector of the realm’s peace.”

Someone in the crowd coughs, and a few whispers pass around. Soyeon catches Kevin’s eyes—he stands to the right of the Iron Throne, and by the look on his face it’s obvious he agrees on the fact Hyunjae is on his way to become a tyrant.

“I gave an oath of celibacy in front of the Seven,” Sunwoo grits out—no, he was never able to keep his mouth shut. Not a single small council meeting without a snarky comment, no king or regent audience without bad jokes. This was in Conningtons' blood. Soyeon thinks it’s stupid—he can talk his way to the guillotine now. One whisper from Sangyeon and Hyunjae will call for the headsman.

“What is an oath to a man with no honor?” Hyunjae prompts in a disinterested tone, like a passing comment. “You gave it. You broke it. Knightship meant nothing to you so why does it suddenly matter if it was a life-long or not? If you’re that stubborn I can easily make your oath life-long and execute you but I’m being gracious enough to let you continue living your miserable life.”

Soyeon finally makes it to the person in the crowd she was trying to get to—now as she missed the beginning she can’t join the small council but it’s not like she really wants to.

“Oh, here you are. Nobody knows what’s happening,” Minnie whispers to her and giggles.

The dornish princess arrived a few weeks ago with unknown motives—according to her and her brother, she was just bored of drinking wine all day, coordinating the building of the giant statues and fountains, and posing all day for the portraits. There obviously should be a less mundane reason, so that’s why Soyeon immediately took her under her wing and then genuinely started enjoying her presence. Minnie was a complete dornishwoman from the head to the toes—black shiny hair, tan skin, dark heavy stare, she called herself a real salty southerner and often complained about the lack of fruit in the northern cuisine and absence of smoking apparati in her solar, but overall was more enjoyable than the rest of the small council. Fortunately, it was mutual—Minnie very often warmly expressed how pleased she is to be her friend and quickly found common ground with Kevin and even Soojin—who, despite her terrifying aura, actually was quite shy and scared of strangers. Not many knew that—they would just assume she is distant and weird because of her silent judging stare, but Soyeon was happy nobody bothers her because of that.

“I don’t know either. They’re kicking Sunwoo out of the Kingsguard,” Soyeon whispers back.

“Look at Dame Estermont,” Minnie nudges her with her elbow and points to the right of the Throne. Lady Bora is rocking on her feet nervously and biting into her lips. “I know she dreamed of this moment.”

“She wants that place so bad. She has wanted it since Minji’s coronation,” Soyeon reminisces. “But Sangyeon proposed Sunwoo and Minji agreed.”

“What a loss to female empowerment,” Minnie sighs. “First he took your promised position, then gatekept the Kingsguard’s Lord Commander title.”

Soyeon snickers but has to pay attention again—something happened that made the crowd gasp.

“Infinitely thankful for your mercy, Your Highness,” Sunwoo rises from his knees—he wasn’t commanded that, so it was a shocker. He then takes his steel gauntlets off and throws it to the floor, and the metal clinks off the tiles. “But I shall still object to your decision if it’s only because you assume I broke the oath of celibacy.”

“It seems my words have missed you, Sunwoo,” Hyunjae puts his elbows on the armrests and rests his head on one of his arms. “I said I resign you because you pass around the secrets of the country so I doubt you make a good defender of the realm. Or do I make my speech less formal so it gets to your head easier?”

A few giggles pass around the crowd—Soyeon also lets herself smile. Sunwoo very obviously starts to fume and is painfully close to snapping.

“I don’t even know what is the secret I’m getting demoted for,” he mumbles to himself as he unpins the white cloak.

“Well, you have someone else in mind who could’ve shared that?” Sangyeon asks him. “You are welcome to point at anyone else but be prepared to provide solid proof. Something more solid than all Seven Kingdom knowing we have a talkative drunkard for a Lord Commander.”

Sunwoo finally snaps.

“Fuck you,” he growls out, and the crowd falls silent. “That, dear lords and ladies, is how our Hand of the King repays for friendship. Should've peed at the wall of your chambers before coming here.”

“This is not personal, Sunwoo, this is purely political,” Sangyeon keeps his posture but frowns. He is very much expectedly offended.

“See? A snake is a snake,” Soyeon whispers to Minnie. She shakes her head and angles her eyebrows in contempt.

“If it wasn’t personal, you’d stayed silent. But I’m not going to give you the pleasure of conversing with me then.”

Sunwoo with a sharp movement takes his sword out, and the rest of the guards immediately grab their own—for a second it seems like the former Lord Commander will rush forward to the steps and attack someone. But he just points at each guard with a frown and throws the blade away—it slides far away to the steps and stops at the feet of Dame Bora. He then throws his white cloak to follow it, but it unfolds in the air and doesn’t land that far away. Sunwoo stares right at Sangyeon and says his final words in this absolute silence.

“Fuck you all, fuck you, and fuck the king too.”

And then he spits on the floor. The crowd gasps loudly.

“Wow. This was very impressive but gross,” Minnie comments in worry. Soyeon doesn’t know how to react—she doesn’t feel that friendly towards the now former knight but roots for him in this conflict.

Sunwoo turns around with his back to the Throne demonstratively and walks out. Hyunjae worriedly looks up at Sangyeon for an advice—the Hand shortly shakes his head, and the guards let the man leave the throne hall untouched after that outrageous gesture.

Hyunjae raises from the Iron Throne and takes a sword off the scabbard on his belt. “The place of the Lord Commander shouldn’t stay empty, though.”

The Kingsguards get the cue immediately and stand in line in front of the stairs, leaving the center empty. Soyeon notices Bora slightly shaking—she expects to hear her name now.

“I hope it’s her,” Minnie whispers. Soyeon agrees—she is an honorable knight.

“Jacob of house Brownhill.”

Soyeon could swear she can see Bora’s heart dropping. The dame though feigns supportiveness as she pats the younger knight at the back—he hadn’t realized it that fast and had to be pushed to the front by his swordmates.

“Your Highness,” he says in a cheerful voice and kneels.

Minnie holds Soyeon’s hand and nudges her to the exit. “Let’s go. I don’t wanna see this festival of sexism. I shall mourn this loss in mine or your chambers.”

Soyeon agrees and lets herself be followed out of the throne hall—she hopes it ends soon so Kevin, who had the misfortune to come with the council in time, will join them soon.

In the empty hall they see Eric nervously pacing and looking into the windows. Poor bastard wasn’t allowed too close to the Throne, so he could leave anytime, and now probably waited for his half-brother to come out so he could interrogate him with questions. When he sees the noblewomen passing by, he freezes in place and stands still, facing them.

“Good afternoon,” Minnie smiles friendly at him—the princess was acting genuinely nice to everyone. Soyeon finds it amazing—and sometimes infuriating.

Eric only bows his head bashfully and keeps it low, but when they pick up the pace again he calls for their attention. “Your Grace!”

They both stop and turn around as he walks closer, posture showing how tense he is. It was obviously an impulsive decision because now he hesitates to talk.

“Cat got your tongue? Speak up,” Soyeon nudges him—she thinks it’d be more appropriate for her because he definitely is scared of her.

“Sorry, it’s not my business, I guess,” Eric looks down. “I’ll just leave. I just wanted to ask if you know why they demoted Ser Sunwoo.”

Soyeon opens her mouth to confirm that it is, indeed, not his business, but Minnie talks first. “No. Do you?”

“Why would I ask if I knew?” He snorts softly, and Minnie gasps, breaking into a smile as she realizes that really was a stupid question.

“Obviously King Hyunjae knows,” Minnie suggests, and Eric nods. “Don’t worry, he will probably tell you. Don’t worry for us either, we’ll find out too somehow.”

“Do you… imply I should tell you?” Eric suddenly whispers and lowers his eyes to the floor. Soyeon feels her face warp into an expression of absolute shock but quickly keeps it back to a frown.

“No such thing,” Minnie pats his shoulder and smiles. “I just said that.”

“Probably some ten year old petty catfight,” Soyeon speaks up suddenly to herself. An instinct to talk badly of Sangyeon won over the disdain for the bastard. “They’ve been friends since they both got the wardship so who knows. You know they both have quite a temper.”

Eric purses his lips in thought. “Do you think Ser Sunwoo will be okay?”

Minnie crosses her arms. “I don’t think anyone in the taverns would care about that. He’s not getting any high positions for sure and his family is disappointed. Either continue getting drunk in the taverns, move to Essos or… or The Wall.”

“The Wall…” Eric repeats solemnly. One of the main bastard problems is to avoid ending in the Night’s Watch, and the worries of this fate didn’t spare a bastard of two noble houses either. “I see. Sorry for taking your time.”

The bastard then leaves further into the hallway, and Soyeon proceeds to follow Minnie to the whatever part of the castle she was leading her to.

“What a weird kid,” Soyeon mutters to herself when they reach the floor where her chamber is located.

“He dislikes you but also feels compelled to gain everyone’s respect back. That’s how it seems to me,” Minnie says thoughtfully. “I treat him like a human being so he has a death grip on this hope he’s getting.”

“Why?”

Minnie laughs in a high voice. “You northerners are so funny! Why is it the fault of the child if his parents gave him life? Besides, not like there was some marriage broken, if I remember. But even if it was… I don’t know, we just don’t care about this in Dorne. I can name so many Sands in the court and royal family. And none of them ever had to worry about The Wall.”

Soyeon just shakes her head but it makes her think involuntarily. Minnie has a point, and even if it was going deeper—she disliked him because he was one of the Fawns, even though they personally did nothing to her. Thinking of it, Sangyeon wasn’t fond of the little bastard either despite treating the other three like his own children, so maybe she should find out what’s Eric’s opinion on the Hand of the King, and use it to get her revenge.

In Soyeon’s chambers they find Soojin—despite the warm weather, she’s sitting next to the burning hearth, staring into fire. The little room is too hot compared to the hallways.

“Are you fortunetelling?” Minnie gasps excitedly and sits next to Soojin with a grin. Soyeon closes the door and walks closer to then.

Soojin nods. “It’s not working well though.”

“Aw, but I believe in you,” Minnie pats her shoulder and smiles supportively. “What do you see?”

Soojin puts a strand of her hair behind her ears and looks into the fire closer. “I see… all I see is snakes biting into the wine cups and noble men drinking their poison. But it’s so far away I don’t even understand what the context is. I see a man mounting a deer with the antlers of iron and salt. I see… I see a masked man’s body pierced by antlers. I keep seeing antlers a lot.”

“Were you seeing something else before?” Minnie prompts.

“I used to see a lion with a shiny mane. The Prince of Light. Now I only see the deaths,” Soojin then hugs her knees closer. “The imposter was right. R’hllor left me and my flames empty.”

“That’s nonsense,” Soyeon speaks up sternly. “You’re letting a man affect your confidence. Didn’t you tell me before he was a liar?”

“He said Hyunjae will bring us the warmth of the sun and he did. The spring started after he was crowned.”

“You saw that too, Soojin. A stag that raised the sun with his antlers.”

Soojin sighs and looks into the flames. “A woman’s hand holds the hand of the king. A murder of crows in the prison cell. A bard and a knight singing a song. Dragon kills a dragon. No, I just see a lot of deaths and it scares me… Do you know why I arrived in Westeros?”

“You saw me in your flames,” Soyeon remembers.

“You know this vision,” Soojin turns around and looks up to her. “I have seen the shiny lioness as Azor Ahai, but I also saw Westerosi rivers turning into streams of blood. A strangely noble reason… I came for you and hoped I have the power to prevent all of this. It has stopped and I only would see you, my queen, but after that audience R’hllor seemed to punish me for my pride, and returned the visions of deaths back.”

Soyeon feels heartbroken—Soojin’s voice falters more and more the more she speaks. Minnie hugs the priestess closer, and Soyeon lowers on the floor to reassuringly hold her face and smile.

“The deaths are inevitable, but I don’t want to be a queen of blood rivers and mass graves. Your quest will not go in vain.”

Soojin puts her hand on her shoulder. A warm feeling leaks out of the crack in the ice glazing over her heart—Soyeon has given up but sometimes she wished the priestess saw something more than an idol in her.

“Some people don’t deserve to live,” Soojin agrees quietly as Soyeon lets her go. “Take their lives, The Promised Princess. You have the permit of R’hllor to serve justice.”

Soyeon smiles to herself. “I have gotten my status back, and my sister is proving the Lannisters are again rich and prospering… But my position is still shaky, so it’s not the time yet.”

Minnie suddenly jerks up, realizing something. “Soojin! Could you look into the fires and tell us what’s the secret of the Barateons that got leaked?”

Soojin turns back to the hearth and stares into it intensely, turning the embers around with an iron stick. Soyeon tries to see something too but there’s nothing except the orange flames.

“Deer again,” she curses quietly to herself in some language. “A stag at the seashore. That’s it.”

“How interesting. Do you think it could be related to Greyjoy?” Minnie asks Soyeon. “Do Baratheons have their people on the Iron isles?”

Soyeon shakes her head. “Iron isles aren't the only shore in Westeros. Let’s be bolder, not the only shore in the world.”

“This could be anything. I don’t see the weather,” Soojin adds. “It’s not necessarily Greyjoy.”

Minnie shrugs.

The women still stare into the flames for some time, and Soyeon desperately tries to see something. Soojin’s eyes are glazed again—she is living through the visions. The knock on the door breaks the silence, and Soyeon realizes she’s been watching Soojin this whole time—she sees the priestess blink the vision away and blush slightly as she notices the attentive stare.

Soyeon opens the door to Kevin.

“Ladies, you will not believe me,” he says, fanning himself with his hand, other hand on his hip.


End file.
